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‘I don’t know, but we need to find out.’
They clasped hands, hidden by Claudia’s purple robes as the new empress regarded the crowd with a serene, imperial smile.
She would show no sign of weakness, no sign of fear, no sign of uncertainty. No blood to draw the wolves.
She scanned the faces of the people who lined the streets, some of them shouting and cursing, others applauding and adoring, some tussling with the guards as the mood risked turning festively feral.
The parade turned around in the Forum and retreated hastily, leaving the citizens to their private parties, but Claudia feared that the brief flurry of activity had not gone entirely unseen. The delay at the Pantheon must have been noted by those who were most invested in her failure. A keen observer might have noticed that one of her guards had been swapped for the return journey.
The number of armed guards stationed around the palace and the Forum tripled overnight, which would only compound the rumours.
Despite Claudia’s best efforts, word of the incident would soon spread quickly, like a fire burning through the city of Rome.
7. THE EMPRESS OF LESBOS
Claudia’s father hadn’t taught her anything about statecraft, though she was the better student of her and her brother. Decimus had never had much of an aptitude for academia, nor the temperament. He was naturally smart, a sharp-eyed youth with a fine vocabulary, but he had little interest in anything other than the macabre. His dark eyes glistened only when her father spoke of massacres and disasters, of corporal punishment, state executions and prisoners of war.
Decimus had run through a dozen different tutors in Claudia’s life, many of them leaving the palace in haste, some not at all (she knew not to ask questions about those particular tutors). He had a habit of pranking them in ways that were insidious and sinister, and eventually her father had been resigned to instructing Decimus himself. Each week, on Saturn-day morning, her brother was called to the throne room, where he was taught how to be emperor.
Claudia was rarely allowed to play by herself as her father liked to use his children as trophies to show off, installing them in his court as a testament to his great parenting. She would be brought out to sing, to dance, to recite poetry, dressed up like a doll for visitors to coo over. This meant that when Decimus received his imperial education, Claudia was often present. She busied herself with whatever she was doing, but she kept one ear attuned to their conversations.
No one had expected her to be in this position, including herself, but now, as she found herself ruling the world, she recalled the stolen lessons she could still remember.
‘There are two kinds of emperors,’ her father had once said. ‘Weak men who are remembered well, and strong men who are remembered badly.’
‘I don’t care what people think about me,’ said Decimus, smirking arrogantly.
‘Good. Then you will be a strong leader indeed. If you want to stay alive, you must be feared.’
Since coming to power, Claudia had determined that she would be good and strong at the same time. She would not become a tyrant or an avenger, but she would not allow herself to be pitied either.
The day after her attempted assassination, it was business as usual. She was drawn into another day’s schedule, installed in the throne room as visitors lined up along the streets.
She sympathized with merchants who complained about trade routes without making concessions, and debated with senators who wanted stricter laws on decency without agreeing to support their cause. She challenged the generals who feared an invasion at the Parthian border without agreeing to an ill-fated advance.
Claudia believed that if she worked hard and played by the rules set in place, she could win the people’s allegiance. She woke early, before Gia had risen, and retired late, after Gia had fallen asleep, spending every possible moment reading scrolls and studying maps.
She knew she would be expected to know twice what a man did, to be a master in all trades. She compiled information on each senator, so she would know what moved him and how best to influence him. She attempted to keep abreast of the military’s actions, but they kept her at an uncomfortable distance.
The fear of the assassination attempt lingered. It sat beneath her skin, concealed itself in the corner of her vision, crept at the back of her neck and in the hairs on her arms, making her feel unsettled.
Gia remained at her side throughout each day, smiling at her occasionally when no one was looking. Though nobody asked for her opinion, or even looked her in the eye on most occasions, she was always present, always witness to these worldly events.
Claudia reminded herself of those people in the empire who went unseen but heard everything: the handmaidens and guards and servants and slaves who gave up their freedom to serve.
She would be sure to earn their loyalty too.
Her enemies thought her weak, but she was determined to prove them wrong. She would do so without compromising her soul, without giving way to the worst of herself.
That was when the graffiti began.
EMPRESS OF LESBOS.
An aspiring artist had carved the descriptive moniker into a wall next to the palace, in a place that was guarded at all times.
Claudia saw it on her way to the Colosseum, to approve the completion of the construction project her father started. The inscription was surrounded by a gaggle of whispering guards and maids.
They were travelling in a golden litter but the main route was clogged with carts and chariots, forcing them to crawl at a snail’s pace. Stuck in slow traffic, Claudia had no choice but to stare at the graffito on the wall that lined the road.
