The Eagle in the Dovecote

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  Contents

  Dramatis Personae

  Part I

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Part II

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Part III

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Part IV

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Author’s Note

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  Dramatis Personae

  THE ROMANS

  Caius Marcius ‘Coriolanus’ – patrician, soldier

  Volumnia – mother to Caius

  Caecilius Marcius – father to Caius

  Virgilia Marcius (née Paetina) – wife to Caius

  Vibinius Sidonius – grandfather to Caius

  Aemilia Sidonius (née Perperna) – grandmother to Caius

  Kaeso Sidonius – uncle to Caius

  Menenius Agrippa – patrician, soldier, senator

  Gabinia Agrippa – wife to Menenius

  Publius Valerius – patrician and senator

  Valeria Valerius – friend to Volumnia

  Lucius Tarquinius – deposed king of Rome

  Lolly Tarquinius – wife to Lucius

  Titus Tarquinius – son of Lucius and Lolly

  Lucius Iunius Brutus – nephew to Lucius Tarquinius

  Collatinus – patrician

  Mettius Trebonius – patrician, statesman

  Cordia Apellina – friend of Virgilia

  Aulus Postumius – commander

  Lucius & Marcus Aquilii – patricians, nephews of Collatinus

  Titus & tiberius Brutus – patricians, sons of Brutus

  Manius & Marcellus Vitellii – patrician, nephews to Brutus

  Cominius – patrician, soldier, friend to Caius

  Pamphilus – patrician and soldier

  Cipius – friend of Titus Tarquin

  Sicinius Vitellus – plebeian, tribune

  Junius Brutus – plebeian, tribune

  Appius Claudius – consul

  Titus Lartius – commander

  Publics servility - senator

  Decius Buccio - senator

  THE VOLSCI

  Tullus Aufidius – soldier

  Gallio Aufidius – father to Tullus

  Salonia Aufidius – mother to Tullus

  Junia Aufidius – wife to Tullus

  Atilia – friend to Salonia

  Canus Elerius – elder

  Virius – soldier

  OTHERS

  Galerius – Greek tutor

  Trupo – slave

  Rufius – arms master

  Fadius – slave to Caius

  Cispia – slave to Volumnia

  Timon – slave

  Vopiscus Cantius – a Tarquinii

  "Cut me to pieces, Volsces; men and lads,

  Stain all your edges on me. Boy! false hound!

  If you have writ your annals true, ‘tis there,

  That, like an eagle in a dove-cote, I

  Flutter’d your Volscians in Corioli:

  Alone I did it. Boy!"

  William Shakespeare, Coriolanus, Act V, Scene VI.

  Part I

  534 BC - 513 BC

  1

  Aemilia Perperna flopped down on the dusty steps of the basilica, lifted her hair away from the nape of her neck and gave a deep sigh. It was on days like this, when the heat made her hot before she even rose from bed and the dust of the city’s streets settled at the back of her throat, that Aemilia wished her father had let her marry earlier in the year. She might have been at the coast now, her skin being cooled by a sea breeze instead of sweating here in Rome.

  Her bored eyes wandered over the forum. There were so many people still in Rome, despite the heat, and the number surprised her. Of course, the people before her were mostly plebeians and foreigners, people who, unlike Rome’s patricians, didn’t have seaside villas and country farms to which they could retreat, but even so, she thought, surely they had somewhere they could go to get away from the heat? She watched them for a few minutes longer, until her head started to throb and she closed her eyes, leaning her head back onto the step behind.

  As she sat there, her head pounding and her dress growing damp, Aemilia wondered why she had not listened to her mother and stayed at home. Her mother had warned her the heat was too great, that she was sure to get one of her headaches, but Aemilia had been insistent – she wanted to buy the ivory hair combs she had seen and she was going to the forum. Her mother had tutted in annoyance and turned away, muttering to herself that children never listened to good sense, and Aemilia had clicked her fingers at the slave who was to accompany her and left the domus.

  But even as she walked along the Via Sacra towards the forum, Aemilia had pondered on why she had been so insistent. It was true she wanted the ivory hair combs dearly, for they would set her dark brown hair off well, but she could have asked the trader to come to the domus or sent her slave to buy them. There really had been no need for her to go. As it was, she had sent the slave off to buy the combs while she waited in the shade. But she had awoken that morning with a desire — no, it was stronger than that, it had been a need — to go to the forum. It was a strange feeling; she had never felt so before.

  After ten minutes or so, Aemilia opened her eyes, wincing as the light hit them, and looked for her slave in the crowd. It took her a few moments, but she found him, haggling with the ivory trader. She had told the slave to knock the trader down to two aes, and it looked like the trader wasn’t budging. Aemilia knew he would eventually; the trader wouldn’t want to miss out on a sale.

  She let her gaze drift over the forum. Her eyes settled first on the beggar who always sat by the shrine of Janus, naked save for a filthy loincloth, his long straggly beard hanging between his legs. He would pray to the gods for you for a bowl of food. Turning her head to the left, she saw the scribes hunched over their small crooked tables, ready to write up court documents and wills for illiterate customers, their fingertips permanently stained with ink.

  A shout drew Aemilia’s attention towards the centre of the forum where she recognised the butcher who provided her household arguing with another man. The butcher was shiny with sweat, his forearms streaked with the blood of his freshly killed meat, and Aemilia’s lip curled in distaste, knowing from experience he would smell as bad as he looked.

  The butcher abruptly quietened as his gaze shifted from his interlocutor to a point over his shoulder. Curious, Aemilia craned her neck to see what he was looking at. She watched as a channel formed in the crowd. People were moving aside, stepping back into one another to make way for a figure wearing a heavy woollen cloak, the hood up.

  Aemilia frowned. Why would anyone wear a cloak on such a blistering hot day? She looked the figure up and down, noticing its slightness, and concluded a woman was beneath the
wool. The channel closed up behind this perplexing creature as the people, grown bored with staring, resumed their business. Only Aemilia continued to give the stranger her full attention.

  The stranger made her way to one of the many braziers that burned in the forum, fire being essential, even in such heat, for so many of the trades performed there, and pushed back her hood. Aemilia had been expecting a hag, a creature grown eccentric with age, but the woman now revealed could only have been ten or fifteen years older than herself. Jet-black hair hung loosely about the round face and rat-tail tendrils stuck to cheeks that seemed unnaturally pale. A scrawny arm emerged from the cloak and delved into the bag hanging over her left shoulder. When it withdrew a moment later, the bony fingers were clasped around three scrolls of parchment.

  Aemilia pushed herself up, grazing the skin of her elbows in her haste to see what the woman did next. Even from a distance, she could see the scrolls were of high quality. The wooden finials were expertly carved and there was even a hint of gilding, for they sparkled when the sunlight caught them. Each of the parchments was tied with a red silken cord.

  She watched, intrigued, as the woman held the scrolls over the brazier. The parchments blackened quickly, then the fire caught hold, and they were dropped into the iron basket. The woman pulled her hood back up over her head and returned the way she had come, the crowd parting and closing behind her once again.

  Aemilia got to her feet and hurried to the brazier, hoping she would not be too late to save the scrolls. She reached the brazier and gave a cry of dismay. The parchment on two of the scrolls had already burned down to ashes and the flames were licking at the wooden cores. She looked desperately for the third scroll and saw that it had fallen down inside the basket where the fire was nothing but a red glow. She thrust her hand into the basket, wincing at the heat that singed the hairs on her forearm, and grabbed the scroll. The silk cord was still intact. Her fingers fumbled with excitement as she untied the knot. Holding her breath, she unrolled the parchment carefully.

  She groaned in frustration. The text written on the parchment was not Latin. She couldn’t read a word.

  Aemilia hurried through her domus, heading for the small room beside the kitchen that served as a bedroom for her brother’s tutor, Galerius. She flung the wooden door open, its jagged, rotting bottom shuddering against the uneven stone floor.

  Galerius was sitting on a low stool by the wall, his feet in a large bowl of water scented with rose petals. His ankles were mottled and swollen, and thick yellow toenails peeped above the surface of the water.

  She grimaced at the sight. ‘Must you?’

  ‘It is the only comfort I can get, domina,’ Galerius said, making a feeble attempt to stand.

  ‘Stay,’ Aemilia ordered, ‘and read this if you can.’ She handed him the scroll.

  Galerius took it, his eyebrows rising as he examined the elaborate finials, obviously impressed. He unfurled the parchment, angling it towards the light that came in from the small window above him.

  ‘You can read it, then?’ Aemilia asked, seeing his lips move to form silent words.

  Galerius nodded. ‘It is written in Greek. I learnt Greek many years ago, in my youth.’ He ran his fingers over the finials. ‘This is very fine, domina. I have only seen such scrolls in the hands of priests. Where did you get it?’

  ‘A woman put it and two more into a brazier in the forum.’

  Galerius lowered the scroll and looked up at her with a frown. ‘Why would anyone destroy such a beautiful thing?’ he mused. ‘What of the other two?’

  ‘They were burning by the time I got to the brazier. That one had fallen down the side and hadn’t been touched by the flames.’

  ‘Most fortunate,’ he breathed. ‘This is a treasure, domina.’

  ‘Stop fondling it and tell me what it says.’

  But Galerius looked up at her again. ‘You said a woman was burning these scrolls?’

  Aemilia nodded, wondering why the old man was looking so excited.

  ‘What woman?’ he asked. ‘What did she look like?’

  ‘She was quite young, dark-haired, pale skin. She was... strange.’

  ‘Strange?’

  Aemilia reconsidered. ‘Well, peculiar, I suppose. She was wearing a cloak. In this heat. And the people made way for her as she walked through the forum. I’ve never seen them do that for anyone, not even the king.’

  ‘I wonder...’. Galerius tapped the scroll thoughtfully, a vertical frown line deepening between his brows.

  Aemilia was growing impatient with his ramblings. ‘What do you wonder, old man?’

  ‘No, I…’. He shook his head vigorously and waved his hands at her. ‘It is nothing, I am sure.’

  ‘What is nothing?’

  ‘I should not say—’

  ‘If you don’t, Galerius, I will have you whipped. Speak.’

  ‘There is a rumour,’ he said carefully, his voice trembling a little at her threat, ‘that the Sibyl has come to Rome.’

  Aemilia’s eyes widened. She had heard of the Sibyl, the prophetess of Apollo, who lived in a cave at Cumae and was said to have led Aeneas to the entrance to the Underworld. The Sibyl was a creature of the gods, no ordinary woman. ‘What have you heard?’

  ‘That she has come to see the king. To warn him.’

  ‘Of what?’

  ‘That is not known,’ Galerius shook his head sadly. He tapped the scroll again. ‘But I wonder if this, and the others she burned, were something to do with him.’

  ‘But if they were meant for the king, why did she still have them? Why did she burn them? Why—’

  ‘Oh,’ Galerius put his hands up to his ears, ‘so many questions, domina. I do not have the answers you seek.’

  Aemilia snorted in annoyance. ‘But you can read that,’ she pointed at the scroll. ‘Tell me what is written there.’

  Galerius lay the parchment out over his bony knees and traced his finger along the lines of text. ‘This scroll appears to contain lines of prophecy.’

  ‘Well, of course, it does. The Sibyl is a prophetess,’ she said testily. ‘What else would it contain?’

  ‘Domina,’ Galerius sighed and put his head on one side, ‘you insisted I tell you—’

  ‘Yes, yes.’ Aemilia sank to her knees, her face level with the scroll. ‘What does it prophesy, Galerius?’ she asked more kindly.

  Galerius put his right forefinger to the beginning of one line of text. ‘This says a child of the winged serpent will be born who will bring great woe to Rome. The child will be loved by Mars and loathed by the people in equal measure.’ He looked up at Aemilia.

  The dreadful expression upon the old man’s face made her stomach lurch. ‘What does it mean?’ Aemilia asked, not sure she wanted to hear the answer.

  ‘Oh, domina,’ Galerius whispered, ‘I fear for you.’

  ‘Fear for me!’ Aemilia said, her voice shaking a little. ‘Why should you fear for me?’

  He pointed a crabbed finger at the parchment. ‘The gods spoke through the Sibyl and she wrote these words with her own sacred hands. The gods told her to come to Rome and deliver this prophecy. Maybe it was meant for the king, but maybe…’. His voice trailed off.

  ‘You mean maybe it was meant for me?’ Aemilia laughed but there was no humour in it, only fear. ‘That’s ridiculous. Why would she have a prophecy for me? And how would she know I would be there in the forum? I only decided to go this morn—’ She turned away, her words catching in her throat as she remembered her insistence on going to the forum. Had that desire been put in her heart by the gods?

  ‘You feel it, don’t you?’ Galerius cried. ‘I see it in your eyes.’

  ‘I don’t… no, I’m not sure…’.

  ‘We cannot know how the gods work, domina, but I do know the gods like to play games with us. I believe you were meant to witness the Sibyl burning the scrolls and that the gods meant for you to save this one.’

  ‘But what does it mean?’ Aemilia cried helpl
essly.

  ‘The winged serpent,’ Galerius said, stabbing the parchment with his forefinger. ‘You have seen such a creature, domina. Think.’

  Aemilia shook her head and looked down at the ground. She scrunched up her eyes and searched her mind. An image began to form: small, white on black. Yes, that was it!

  ‘Vibinius’s ring,’ she cried, holding up her right hand and wiggling her little finger to show where her future husband wore his seal ring. ‘His intaglio is a winged serpent.’

  Galerius nodded. ‘Now you understand.’ He reached out and took hold of her hand. ‘This prophecy is a warning, domina, that you must not marry Vibinius Sidonius.’

  Aemilia snatched her hand away and got awkwardly to her feet. ‘Not marry Vibinius?’ Her voice was strong now, outraged. ‘Of course I will marry him, you old fool.’

  ‘But the prophecy—’

  ‘Mere words,’ she said, flicking her fingers at the parchment.

  ‘No, it is your destiny,’ Galerius insisted, his feet moving in agitation, splashing water over the side of the bowl. ‘Take it to a priest. Have him interpret it if you will not believe me.’

  ‘Are you mad? A priest would tell the king. And if these scrolls were meant for him, there’s no saying what he would do if he knew I had one.’ She shuddered at the thought of the king’s anger.

  ‘Then believe me, domina. If you marry into the house of the winged serpent, a child will come who will bring great harm to Rome.’