The Ascent

She had a niece's privilege of kissing and caressing [him], and
exercised it with a noticeable effect on the emperor's passions...
The wedding took place without delay...

Suetonius, "Claudius"

Another inn, another night. Exactly the same as the dozens – hundreds? – of other inns they had seen along the way from Mount Aetna, and now here, within Rome itself. Men sang drunkenly, wooden spoons clanked against bowls. Gabrielle stared down at her red, chapped hands, cradling a cup of something that passed for wine. Worrying. Days had slipped into weeks, yet there was no sign of Eve anywhere. It was hard to believe that there ever would be.

The festive air in the city was cloying, but there was a curious comfort in feeling invisible among all the faces. And Xena was right; a military celebration would draw the right kind of crowd. All those soldiers hanging around town, their families, friends, whores – what better chance could there be of finding a child taken by a couple of legionaries?

Rome, as usual, was in the midst of yet another fad: a triumphing general who was said to be beloved by the goddess of Fortune. There were strange stories about the woman's origins. They varied widely, but agreed on one thing: the infant Livia had been found by some soldiers, showed incredible aptitude for all things military at an early age and was now a favourite of the Emperor.

Had Gabrielle heard these tales a few weeks ago, she would have probably shared Xena's suspicions; as it was, there had been so many disappointments that it was too painful to get her hopes up every time, and even more painful to see Xena's face close up a little more as each one was crushed.

Still, it was certainly worth checking out. Just to be sure. They had not managed to get a good view during the parade, so the only thing to do now was to stake out the inns most likely to be frequented by Livia's soldiers. This was the fifth one for the night; Gabrielle had no doubt that by now, Xena would have tried at least as many, with as little luck. The plan was to meet back here, but there was no sign of her yet.

* * *

"Ah." Augustus raised himself up on his elbow as the door to his dining room swung open. He moved a scroll he had been studying off the narrow table before his couch-seat. "Welcome, my dear."

"Augustus." Livia smiled slightly in greeting before striding over to the low table, set for two. She knew her gown slinked around her as she walked, and knew that Augustus noticed.

The chamber was a large square, the walls covered with tapestries depicting the glory of Rome: here, Remus and Romulus, suckled by the she-wolf as babes; there, by the window, the triumph of the great Scipio Africanus... Livia's gaze flickered to a new tapestry hung over Augustus' couch, its threads still bright and free from dust: Fortuna, resplendent in her guise as Fortune of the Present Day, crowning a general with a wreath of laurel. General? A little thrill of pleasure surprised Livia as she looked closer – it was her! Her own head was being crowned by the goddess in the woven scene: Fortuna's Champion.

"Do you like it?" Augustus asked eagerly, following Livia's gaze to the wall behind him. "I ordered it made as soon as news of your victories in Gaul reached us."

"It's perfect." Livia tore her eyes from the scene with some regret. She wondered whether he would have been as eager to welcome he back had she lost her campaign, then dismissed the thought as useless. Losing formed no part of her plans. "I'm flattered, Caesar."

Augustus winced in distaste. "Drop the 'Caesar', Livilla, do." He opened his mouth to say more, but Livia came around the table to the head of his couch and put her arms around his neck, bending down to plant a kiss on his clean-shaven cheek. She felt Augustus catch his breath and tightened her hold on his neck.

"Consider it dropped," she whispered, kissing his other cheek, lingering a little longer than was warranted by mere gratitude for his patronage. She allowed him the diminutive only because she knew it made him feel closer to her – and that illusion was so very useful. No one else had dared to call her that in years. Not since she turned sixteen, and... Well, since she stopped being Livilla.

Augustus wanted something from her, something serious.

"Uh... Sit down, my dear," he found his voice at last. "I would like your opinion on something."

Livia sat on the straight-backed chair opposite Augustus' couch, folding her hands carefully in her lap to disguise their trembling. Anticipation made her giddy. "What is it?"

* * *

Gabrielle glanced around the drinking hall again. She and Xena had combed the city, and every town on the way here – but what was the point? All Xena knew was that the name of one of the men was Marcus, but that was as useless as knowing that their commander had been Octavius. It had taken days to discover that Octavius was none other than Augustus, the current Emperor, but that was more hindrance than help: he had been the commander of the entire army. He might know something about this Livia, of course, but they could hardly storm into the palace and demand an audience – not that Gabrielle would put that beyond Xena if all else failed...

"Hope you don't mind my rudeness, miss, but this is no place for a pretty young lady like yourself."

Gabrielle looked up – into the dark, wine-flushed face of a stocky fifty-ish man, holding a cup of wine like her own. Despite the puckered white scar that split his cheek from nose to ear, he looked friendly enough, and Gabrielle searched for a smile.

"I've seen worse," she shrugged. Behind him, the door opened and shut, letting in cold night air and another customer. Not Xena. "I'm waiting for a friend."

The man motioned at the seat across from her questioningly, and Gabrielle nodded, momentarily aware of the reassuring weight of the sais concealed in her boots. The man sat.

"You're not from around here, are you?" He set his cup down, looking her over curiously. "All alone in a Subura inn like this." He glanced at Gabrielle's silver-gauntleted wrists. "A fighter, then?"

"You could say that."

"An Amazon!" the man grinned, chipped teeth flashing. He stretched out his arm in greeting – "I'm Marcus Sergius, by the way."

Marcus?

"Gabrielle." She shook his callused hand, looking at him more closely. Definitely an old soldier, grown paunchy around the middle, but there was no mistaking the military bearing.

"And yourself?" she asked lightly. "I can see you were in the legions."

Marcus grunted. "Once a legionary, always a legionary."

"The you've served under Livia?" Gabrielle probed further. He was no doubt too old to be in the current force, but she deliberately steered the conversation in this direction. If he knew anything at all about the commander...

Quite unexpectedly, Marcus sighed. "Haven't been on campaign in over a decade, miss. Came to Rome for my girl's triumph."

Gabrielle tensed. "Your girl?"

"Livia. Champion of Rome, they call her – but to me, she's still the snotty-nosed little thing I found, screaming among the dead bodies on some gods-forsaken battlefield."

Gabrielle's mounting excitement shattered into anger at herself. Once again, she'd made the mistake of starting to hope, and once again found herself staring at a dead end. Eve had not been left on a battlefield. Just another disappointment.

No big deal, she reminded herself. She had heard this sort of tale often enough in her short time in Rome. Every soldier seemed to have found Livia at one time or another, and she had nothing to lose by listening to yet another version. It could come in useful.

"You found Livia yourself?"

Marcus laughed. "True as I live. Such a little thing she was – only the goddess's favour could have saved her. Amazing. I scooped her up with my own two hands," he held out his rough palms for Gabrielle's inspection, "and took her to my centurion."

Gabrielle imitated an indulgent laugh. "You know you're the sixth man in Rome who told me that he had been the one to find Livia? And every story is different."

* * *

"Please, help yourself first," said Augustus, indicating the richly laden table with a sweep of his hand.

"Thank you." Livia curbed her impatience to hear whatever it was Augustus had in mind and reached for some bread, seasoning it with a little olive oil. She ate sparingly, too fidgety to have much interest in food, feeling sorely out of place in the opulence of the palace after the long months in the field.

It would never do.

Livia straightened her spine and tried to look well-bred and restrained, two qualities she had long since learned to feign when required. She added a little sensuality to her bearing, not too much. Augustus had to be cultivated with the greatest care. A mistake now would be disastrous.

Surreptitiously, she studied Augustus from under dark, deliberately lowered lashes. He had aged somewhat since she had last seen him, but nevertheless remained a striking man – soft-eyed and a touch weak perhaps, but not entirely unattractive, when his power was weighed into the balance. Power and weakness. A potent combination.

Augustus cleared his throat. "I have a proposal for you, my dear."

* * *

"Well," said Marcus, "In that case, I won't bore you with yet another retelling."

Gabrielle started to protest that she really did not mind hearing the story again, but Marcus continued. "I used to visit her, just to see how her foster family was treating her. They were good to her, the Livii, but that girl always did have her sights set on greater things."

His eyes grew sorrowful and moist, the glistening stare of a man mellowed by a bit too much wine and warmth. "She'd tell me things – trusted me, I think. Then she turned sixteen, and said, just as we're talking now, she said: 'I've decided what my future will be, Marcus Sergius.' What's that, I said? Livia looked me in the eye and declared: 'I'm going to lead the Roman army.'"

Gabrielle listened intently, exactly as she had listened to every other man who had told her this kind of story. Marcus had a certain honesty about him that, once upon a time, would have enticed her into trusting him implicitly. She looked into her dark wine, then sipped it. There was a bitterness in knowing better.

"What happened then?" she asked.

"Damned fool that I was, I laughed at her. Livilla, I said, that's no job for a girl. What'd you want an army for?" Marcus shook his head sadly. "She fixed me with this cold stare she has, like she used to do with her parents, but never with me, and said, 'I will do it.' And that was the last time I saw her – until the parade."

Gabrielle could not help feeling for the man, and she had to remind herself, sternly, that the storytelling had nothing to do with the truth of the tale. Still, her sympathy was genuine. "You really loved her, didn't you?"

"Love?" He chuckled. "She's not an easy kid to love – wicked claws and a brain to match. If you stand in her way, it's because she put you there." Marcus drank the last of his wine, and got up. "But I watched her take her first steps, taught her to read a map. Gave her her first dagger – the Livii nearly kicked me out when they found out, but she always did get her way. So, when she closed that door on me, it was my kid locking me out, you know?"

Gabrielle rubbed her face. It was all getting too much. "Yeah, I know." She shook the man's hand in weary farewell. "Thanks for the story."

* * *

"You want to marry me." Livia fought to keep her face impassive, but it was difficult – so very difficult! – when inside, her mind screamed victory. Rome! Empress of Rome!! She thought she tasted blood on her tongue and looked away, lest Augustus see her triumph.

"That's right, my dear," the Emperor said pleasantly. He was sitting up now, reaching across the table between them to take Livia's hands into his own. "You see, politically, it would be a wonderful union. Fortuna's chosen Champion, and Rome herself – what could be more natural?"

"I see," Livia managed, still not trusting herself to look at him. There was a hot pulse in her temples that she had never noticed before; delightful shivers of energy rushed to every muscle in her body.

Augustus misread her tone as uncertainty. He gripped her hands tighter, massaging his fingers into her palms, stroking her wrists. Each touch pierced her nerves with a thrill, curling her fingers into fists. "That's reason enough for the senate. But that's not why I want you for my wife, Livilla."

Livia looked up.

"All those years ago, when you were brought before me as a baby, I knew you would be special. So when I saw you again, grown to womanhood and telling me that Fortuna and War were yours to command – well, I didn't have to think too long. I knew you had it in you."

Augustus sat forward; Livia felt him touch his fingers to her wrists, then move gently upwards, along the exposed skin of her arms. "I waited for every victory, Livilla," the emperor whispered, "for every tribute you brought to Rome..." He paused in the crook of her elbows, manicured nails impressing his point. "But what I really waited for was this. Seeing you."

Livia closed her eyes, savouring the moment. Finally! All her pains, all her plans, everything she had worked for – it had been worth it! Ares was so right. She would have Rome at her feet.

She opened her eyes to allow Augustus to see that they were bright with unshed tears. He rose and walked over to Livia's chair, kneeling before her, holding her hands. "I love you, Livilla," he said. "Marry me."

Livia wanted to laugh, scream, find Ares' temple and offer a sacrifice like any old mortal, to kiss him and feel the rush of power his kisses held... None of it would have been enough, the sheer sweetness of this moment surpassed anything she had imagined in her wildest dreams. The Emperor of Rome, kneeling at her feet like a lovestruck fool! It was insane – and it was hers. All hers. Everything.

"I will marry you, Augustus," she said, and looked into his upturned face: so powerful, and so weak.

The Emperor rose again, offering Livia his arm with the utmost solemnity to draw her to her feet. "I will speak to the Senate as soon as possible," he said. "We will be married."

"But not just yet."

Augustus looked startled.

Livia put her other hand on his. "Delay the announcement a little while, Caesar. I wish to make you a wedding gift. "

* * *

Marcus nodded. "You're welcome – and take care of yourself in this city." Gabrielle watched him weave his way expertly through the narrow spaces between tables, watched as a lumbering drunk staggered out of his seat in front of Marcus...

"Hey! Watch where you're going, dumbass!" There was a crash, and the two men fell in a tangle of tunics and limbs; the table squeaked along the floorboards as they struggled to get up in the cramped space. A spattering of curses was swiftly followed by the dull thud of a punch.

"Marcus!" Gabrielle was there instantly, offering the soldier her hand. Marcus got to his feet, breathing hard. Seeing the barkeep coming, the other man scrambled away.

"Like I was saying, miss," Marcus smiled painfully, blood pooling in the corner of his lips and trickling out, "the Subura is not the prettiest place in Rome."

A drop of red off his chin hit the floor; Gabrielle looked down after it. There was something there, a small, ragged-looking object... She bent down to pick it up – and gasped.

Marcus's hand closed over hers swiftly, squeezing the soft little thing from her grip. "Thank you," he said, turning to go.

"Wait!" yelled Gabrielle, then remembered to lower her voice. "How... Where did you get that from?"

Marcus opened his palm, looking at the thing thoughtfully. In the low, flickering light of the tavern, the beaded tassels and strips of braided leather looked small and useless – but Gabrielle's heart beat faster, certain now of what it was. The symbol of an Amazon right of caste. Her own right of caste, in fact. Or, rather, Eve's.

She felt light-headed and ill, there was a thought beating down the doors to her conscience, and Gabrielle couldn't let it in. From somewhere beyond her own mind, Marcus's voice drifted into her: "I want to give it to Livia," he seemed to be saying, "It's the only thing I have left of her..."

The torchlight swam in bright pools before Gabrielle's eyes. Of course, an old battlefield! How could she have forgotten that the beach where they had lost Eve had been strewn with mangled steel, broken arrows... In a corner behind her, someone started to sing.

"Good-bye," she heard Marcus' voice. The cold air from the doorway slipped icy fingers around her neck, making the warmth of the tavern unbearable.

Xena would be back soon.

* * *

It wasn't until later that night that Marcus discovered the little pendant gone. He thought about retracing his steps to the tavern, but knew that it would be useless. Perhaps it had been selfish to keep it, not to have returned it to Livia all those years ago... Now... Now, he had no pretext to see her – and nothing left.

He stopped in the stinking Subura street, heedless of the scurrying rats and people around him, and looked up. The narrow strip of sky was a starless black, and the moon looked pale and lost, the way it always did in the city. It had been a mistake to come to Rome.

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