31. Give and Take

Laelia glanced up at her husband lying on his side on the couch centering a triclinium. 

A breeze wafted through the tall Corinthian pillars buttressing many arches adjacent to a grand loggia. Marcus levered himself up on an elbow as he quaffed wine from a silver flask dangling down from the other hand. He roared in a terrible guffaw. 

"What amuses you, Your Grace?" asked Laelia in cold civility. 

The fat man regarded her, his drab eyes narrowing. The flask spun, unfurling what was left as he hurled it at her. A thin stream of wine spiraled like the shell of a snail. 

She ducked. 

The silverware caromed off the pillar next to her, then bounced on the floor before stopping by a pedestal table. An elegant piece of a white marble slab on three gold legs, the table was a gift Domitian sent from the north for Marcus' fiftieth two years ago. The three legs symbolized the Triumvirate, and the majestic white marble, an emblem of his reign.

Regaining her composure, Laelia straightened and met her husband in the eye. 

Between them, a long dining table displayed various viands, delicacies such as flamingo tongues grilled to succulent, bear claws braised for three days until translucent, and other parts of exotic beasts the cook found in Marcus' menagerie. Glistening behind gossamer steam, they were said to tempt even the fussiest palate – Laelia couldn't care less. 

Her husband needed not to be tempted – she thought – as the man gorged to fill the insatiable pit on the other end of his throat. 

A quiet snort tilted her mouth. 

"Leave us," she dismissed the servants attending the table, her eyes fastened still on the man who held her wrath and contempt, and yet it was through such a man that she had her vengeance. Fifteen years ago, when she was Consul Glaber's favorite mistress, she was so close to having him ditch his wife for her had it not been for Gnaeus Januarius Claudius' meddling. 

She prided herself on how she had snubbed out both Consuls. And for a while, she had even been joyful. But her joy was as short-lived as everything that meant to bring joy. No matter how many enemies she had removed, threats kept rising from all sides, and there was no turning back. 

After she had banished Domitian and with Ariadne married to Julius Gaius, her son became Marcus' only heir. But Dracus was not his by blood after all, and over the years, Marcus has sought to beget more sons. Though she refused him in bed, using her grief over Aelius as her excuse, he forced himself on her time and again. And when she found herself pregnant again, she recreated the potion she learned from Glaber's apothecary for miscarriage. Not only had she drugged herself, but all the mistresses Marcus had knocked up. Whores she couldn't deal with in time, she had their bastards poisoned in small doses over the years with the help of Augustus Gaius. When they all checked out before ever reaching adulthood, it seemed they had all died of obscure maladies. 

Distraught by all the premature deaths of his children, Marcus grew more paranoid each day, and his paranoia ravaged, reducing him to tantrums and stupors unlikely of the gallant commander he once was. When he scoured the Zigurrat of Ra for Gods' guidance from incense smoke, any reverence Laelia had reserved for him went out in a puff. She remembered retreating to her bedchamber, and as she shut the door behind, secured in the knowledge that no one was in earshot, she laughed so hard she dropped to her knees. 

When she and Marcus took over Pethens, she pronounced a future of prosperity under Marcus' rein, and if anyone, including Marcus, dared to impugn the validity of her future pronouncements, they would be challenging the legitimacy of his Praetorship. She laughed hysterically at the walloping inanity that convinced Marcus otherwise of what he knew was fake. When fear inflicted folly, it turned bewildering fiction into blind faith. Her laughing ceased.

In the following days, she gathered the prophet of every prominent house in Pethens for a seance that sought words from the Gods, which she had written beforehand. After all the pomp and circumstance, she had the words couriered to Marcus in a secret scroll. 

Everything comes with a price, said in the scroll. Since you didn't earn the present with a lawful past, it must cost you a future. Such is the give and take. 

The words had seeped through Marcus, and insidiously, it poisoned his mind like how she had doped his bastards. 

Stifling a scoff, Laelia raised her chin and glanced slantwise at Marcus' fat, wizened face with pity, with disdain, and with every feeling that ran perhaps the opposite of love. 

As all the servants had fled, Marcus pushed to his feet. "Stop lying to me, woman," he croaked, towering from the triclinium. "Why would Domitian rise against me when I just pardoned him?" 

"What's in the mind of Lord Domitian is beyond any of us now," she replied, her tone uninflected. "And while you may choose to overlook it, here are the facts. Your son brought hoplite phalanxes of the Exonians to Julius' camp, and Julius had snubbed out what could have been a coup." 

Marcus shot daggers, fists clenching by his flanks. A visible shudder wobbled his jowl. "How dare you bring up the name of that little prick?" he snarled, throwing his arms, his sleeves flapping. "And what about Ariadne? Send my order! I want her back! I want her to leave the bloody north today!"

"With all due respect, dear husband," Laelia sneered, "sweet Ariadne has been married to Julius for five years. You wouldn't want to give the Gaius any reason to rise against you, especially during such a critical time, I take?" She cocked her head, hangings of gemstones swishing from her filigreed crown of gold. 

"So what if she's been married for five years?" he retorted. "Five years and still no children! Either something is wrong with him, or she despises him! I should never have let you talk me into agreeing to the marriage!" 

Refraining from any expression, Laelia almost felt sorry for the imbecile before her eyes. "I can't, my dear," she pronounced. "The marriage must stay. The stability between the Uranus and the Gaius hinges on it. And by a woman's instinct, I can tell their marriage has been more than just a pact. Her not being pregnant has convinced me of it."

"Blight you and your instinct!" he spat. 

She shrugged, untouched by his insult. "Until their recent settlement in the north, they'd encamped in rough terrains and frequently moved over long distances to where construction demands. It must be hard for a woman, harder still if she's pregnant. Julius is protecting her from himself. Then again," she paused, permitting a smirk to her face, "you could be right about the unfortunate chance of his or her defects."

"Are you mocking me?"

"I wouldn't dare, your grace," she replied; her gaze didn't flinch. "But as I've said, there are reasons to believe that sweet Ariadne enjoys her husband's company. Her home is where he is now. And I wouldn't recommend enforcing her return. In case you've forgotten my warning against Domitian's pardon, I'd advise you to take my words this time."

Pushing to his feet, Marcus bounded up to her like a boar ramming through a hedgerow. He gripped her neck, smashing her into a pillar. Their feet trod in the scuffle, knocking over fresh candles arrayed in a pool by the triclinium. 

Laelia snickered, her hands clawing his forearm and wrist. "The Scipios keep your secrets, the Legidus channel your gold, and the Gaius command your best legion. Kill me if it pleases you, but who will help you run the men that run this bloody country?" 

Gnashing his teeth, Marcus grunted, his breath a whiff of carrion. 

"Now isn't the time to sever your bonds!" she added in gasps, her voice a terrible rasp.

He shoved her away, his gray eyes glaring. 

She fell to the side. Clamping a palm to her chest while propping on the other hand, she espied out of the corner of her eyes Marcus proceeding to the pedestal table. Swooping up another flask of wine, he gulped and chucked away the almost empty container to the heel of a pillar. 

"Throw me a state banquet," he rumbled. "Make sure it happens before the Gaius pick their Favorite. Invite all the dignitaries."

While her words had left somewhat of an impact, it wasn't crystal clear to Laelia what Marcus would do at the banquet. He might slaughter again a few men who held his wrath and feed the rest with their corpses. Laelia remembered gulping back a giggle the first time she saw such atrocity. But now, she could only hold in a yawn. Slowly rising to her feet, she spruced up her gown. "Yes, your grace." 

"And not just any banquet." He swiveled toward her. "I want no cook partaking in the preparation. I want all the meat and mead to be carved out of gold."

Even Laelia widened her eyes. "A state banquet consists of five hundred dishes, dear husband," she reminded. "And we have three weeks between now and the final." 

"So?"

She studied his derisive face, trying to fathom his intent. "So, as the Prophetess to the Hosue Uranus, may I ask the purpose of it?"

"Aren't you the clever one?" he snarled, thundering with a burst of mirthless laughter. "The Legidus may channel my gold, as may the Gaius command my legions. But only I can summon all the finest goldsmiths and have them fashion raw gold to fine art in such a short time! And fuck the Scipios! My secrets are theirs, too! If I sink, they drown first, and they bloody know this!" 

A small silence ensued, interrupted by chirpings and rustlings from a verdurous garden facing the loggia. Such folly to make only a statement, Laelia thought. But she knew better than to offend him more now. 

"I'll see to it," she said, then whirled for the exit. As she sashayed down the gallery, she endeavored to recover her grace. 

And the pig Marcus wouldn't let her have it! 

"How's Dracus, by the way?" His voice bellowed behind her. 

"He's very well, my dear," she replied. "Thank you for asking."

"How long haven't I seen him?"

She primmed up her lips, her brows locking. 

"Do you even know where he is?"

A smoldering rage sent a shiver, moving her jaw from side to side. 

"Turn your face to me." 

She did as bid, wearing the aloof smile as her carapace. "He's been busy with his studies if it pleases you." 

"If it pleases me," he guffawed, repeating her words as he slumped before his feast. Bones cracked as he broke the leg of a roast pheasant; his jowl jiggled. 

"May I be excused now, your grace?" asked Laelia. "Plenty to prepare for the banquet, I'm sure you understand."

He waggled a glistening hand.

She reared her head and left. Her gown swished as her feet fastened into a trot. Once she returned to her tablinum, she gathered the elite troop from her household guards. 

"Any news on Lord Dracus' whereabouts?" she asked in a flat voice, sweat prickling the skin on her back. 

The men regarded each other, their lips parting without sounding a word. 

"Send another squad to search outside the city. When stopped by the city guards, tell them you've been sent for the delivery of my personal goods. No one can know about this. Understood?"

The soldiers thumped their feet as they saluted her. 

A staccato of footsteps as the men took their leave, silence encroached. 

Laelia watched the smoke rise through the many holes on the lid of an incense charcoal burner chased with gold. Weariness befell. She groped for a chair. Everything she had done, she did for her firstborn, and the boy despised her for it. In stress and disappointment, she sobbed. But she wasn't sad. Sadness was for runts, an attribute she had long dispelled. 

***

"Turn your face to me," Marcus groaned. 

His wife complied, wheeling around to him. Her veneer of hauteur bore no crack. "He's been busy with his studies if it pleases you." 

"If it pleases me," Roaring with laughter, he hunched over his feast and wrung off the leg from a roast pheasant. Basting spurted, running down his fingers. Eighteen spices said the cook to have put into the roast. He chomped yet tasted nothing. The more he gorged, the more obtuse his taste buds grew, and the more he consumed to offset the fear of losing it all, that everything he had gained would not make up for the losses. 

Of all his children, the beautiful Ariadne had always been his favorite. He remembered the summer night when all the stars shone as she came to this world. Since that day, she had pumped a new breath into his lungs, and the air never felt quite the same again. The men he had slain, the blood shed, and the fortress besieged, all led to her that she was his purpose. Little did he know that he would fight with his life for the power to keep her safe only to the point where he would give her away for safekeeping that power. 

As he dismissed Laelia, he let his eyes fall on the pedestal table Domitian sent for his fiftieth two years ago. Grief choked him. He spat, coughed, and gulped more wine, desperate for something to hold on to. A terrible laugh came into the place of what could have been a wail. He clawed into a pot of flamingo tongues and stuffed his mouth full.