Just as the opening invocations were beginning the Emperor arrived, resplendent in a purple toga sewn all over with golden stars that made Gaius blink. He had heard of the toga picta, but had thought it was only worn by a general presiding over his triumph. It was rather disturbing to see it worn here, and he wondered if Domitian wanted to be seen as a conqueror, or was simply fond of finery. This was the first time Gaius had seen his Emperor at such close hand. The youngest son of the great Vespasian had the bull neck and well-muscled shoulders of a soldier, but Gaius read petulance in the twist of his mouth and suspicion in his eyes.
It was almost time for the noon recess before Gaius was beckoned forward to read Licinius’s report on the finances of Britannia. There were a few questions, mostly on the subject of resources, and one from Clodius Malleus that allowed Gaius to mention the part he had played in controlling the latest rebellion. Despite some recent tutoring in oratory, he felt he must have bored them, but at the end of his speech, they voted him a perfunctory round of applause and—as Licinius had foreseen—confirmed that for the next year a reasonable percentage of the tax money they had collected might be retained in Britain. Since this was why Licinius had sent him in the first place, Gaius was hardly surprised.
The meeting with Domitian afterwards was brief. On his way to another engagement, the Emperor was already removing the gorgeous toga, but he stopped long enough to give Gaius a careless word of thanks.
“You’ve been in the army?” he asked.
“As a tribune with the Second Legion. I had the privilege of serving under you in Dacia,” Gaius said carefully.
“Hmm…Well, I suppose we’ll have to find you something to do in the Provinces then,” said the Emperor without much interest, turning away.
“Dominus et Deus,” said Gaius, saluting, and hated himself for saying the words.
On the way home Gaius shared a litter with Clodius Malleus. It was the first time they had been able to talk privately all day.
“And what did you think of the Senate?” the older man asked.
“It made me proud to be a Roman,” Gaius answered truthfully.
“And the Emperor?”
Gaius was silent. After a moment he heard the Senator sigh. “You have seen how things are,” Malleus said softly. “Such patronage as I have to offer must be given carefully, at least for now. But if you are willing to face the risks that this bond might bring you, along with its potential rewards, I would be happy to accept you among my clients. I can arrange for you to serve as Procurator for army supplies in Britannia. Ordinarily it would be somewhere else in the Empire, but I think you would be most useful to us in the land that you know best.”
That collegial “us” made something in Gaius that the Emperor’s lack of interest had chilled awaken to warmth again. The Rome that his father and Licinius had taught him to honor might be dead, but it seemed to Gaius that under the leadership of such men as Malleus and Agricola the spirit of Rome might revive.
“I would be honored,” he said into the silence, and knew that like the decision he had made after Mons Graupius, this choice would determine the course of his life from now on.
TWENTY-FOUR
The priestesses worshipped at the new moon in the Sacred Grove behind the Forest House, following a ritual that men had not invented and were not allowed to see. Caillean watched as the novices filed in to complete the circle, feeling rather like a mother hen counting her chicks, or perhaps, observing the pale glimmer of their gowns in the half-light, cygnets about to become swans.
For a moment there was silence as the circle was completed. She moved into position before the stone cairn that was their altar, Dieda to her left and Miellyn to her right, in the place that was usually her own. But tonight Eilan was sick with cramps and the place of the High Priestess had fallen to Caillean. It felt strange to stand here, and strange not to feel the younger woman’s familiar energy balancing her own.