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    Invitation to Die: A Novella of Ancient Rome
    Invitation to Die: A Novella of Ancient Rome
    Invitation to Die: A Novella of Ancient Rome
    Ebook113 pages1 hour

    Invitation to Die: A Novella of Ancient Rome

    By Lindsey Davis

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    About this ebook

    Roman emperor Domitian throws a terrifying banquet for the Senators—one that everyone is certain they won't survive—in Lindsey Davis's Invitation to Die: A Novella of Ancient Rome.

    The emperor Domitian is paranoid, autocratic, and violent. And he has a special grudge against both the Senate and the Camilli. So when a strange invitation to a banquet appears given by Domitian, it's not good news for Aulus and Quintus, the Camillus brothers. Both are Senators, brothers-in-law of Marcus Didius Falco, a disreputable private informer with his own past with Domitian, and nephews to a man who plotted to depose Domitian's father.

    But they dare not refuse an invitation from mercurial and vengeful Domitian. And their concerns were well founded—Domitian has gathered the most powerful men in Rome for what is known to history as The Black Banquet. The place markers are tombstones with names on it, the servers are slaves covered in black make-up, and Domitian speaks only of death. Aulus and Quintus—like all the attendees—are sure they will not survive the night.

    Bestselling historical novelist Lindsey Davis explores one of the more famous episodes in the reign of the much-feared 1st Century Emperor, through the extended family of her most famous creations—the brothers-in-law of Marcus Didius Falco and the uncle to his successor, Flavia Albia.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherMacmillan Publishers
    Release dateJun 4, 2019
    ISBN9781250248565
    Invitation to Die: A Novella of Ancient Rome
    Author

    Lindsey Davis

    Lindsey Davis was born and raised in Birmingham, England. After taking an English degree at Oxford and working for the civil service for thirteen years, she “ran away to be a writer.” Her internationally bestselling novels featuring ancient Roman detective Marcus Didius Falco include Venus in Copper, The Iron Hand of Mars, Nemesis and Alexandria. She is also the author of Rebels and Traitors, set during the English Civil War. Davis is the recipient of the Crime Writers’ Association Cartier Diamond Dagger Award, the highest accolade for crime writers, as well as the Ellis Peters Historical Dagger Award and the Authors' Club Best First Novel award.

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      Book preview

      Invitation to Die - Lindsey Davis

      Rome: the Capena Gate and Palatine

      November AD 89

      1

      In your city— The speaker paused slightly. Rome, she said, as if forcing her lips to form a distasteful word. From her very slight accent, she must be foreign. "In your Rome, is it normal for a dinner invitation to be brought by soldiers?"

      When it’s from Domitian! snapped back the man in charge. His name was Taurinus, though he did not feel obliged to give it. He was a lean type, battle-hardened: lips slightly compressed, eyes slightly too fixed. Anyone familiar with soldiers who had experienced too much war might suspect he was liable to run wild.

      Taurinus was wondering why calling it his Rome lumbered him with personal blame. Something wrong with Rome, was it? Hades, how would he know? He was a provincial-born legionary; he’d had fifteen years in the army, fighting for this city, yet had never been here before. Yesterday he marched in from the Danube among the Emperor’s supposedly triumphal troops; today they had him out delivering post. Banquet bids. Bit of a comedown. You never got anything like this when you were stuck in a fort on a remote frontier. Even with winter closing in and the beer running out, there were limits. Thank the gods, this morning he had a man who could map-read – and, amazingly, one of the wily bureaucrats had thought to give them a map.

      I am not sure… havered the snooty woman on the doorstep.

      Lady, we have hundreds of these to deliver, I’ll have to ask you to look lively. If the senator is not around, any responsible person can take this in. Here you go, ‘noble Camillus, First Region, the Capena Gate.’ Sign there.

      He had a list. For heavens’ sake, this was imperial Rome. Of course he did.

      Sign? The woman was astounded.

      Their eyes met. The officer knew that any wife of a senator would be able to read and write. Even though, just his luck, on this particular doorstep he’d run up against one who sounded foreign. That was tricky; Hosidia Meline might appear polite and only mildly baffled, yet every stage of their interview felt dodgy. It was as if one of them, or even both, could not understand the rules.

      All his confrontations today had been a struggle. He could only hope this woman was frowning because asking for a signature implied the respectable household of the noble Camillus could not be trusted to take in a letter and then actually give it to him. Which was true: the officer had been told to make bloody sure he got his list initialled every time.

      We don’t want any unfortunate losses, do we? he explained, in what he meant as a helpful tone. According to the custom of her home country, the lady gave him the evil eye. Taurinus, who had been doing this all morning, spelled things out: Suppose, madam, this evening at the function your husband was missing, so Our Master queried where he was—believe me, Domitian will be counting empty couches. If Our Master were to ask, ‘Oh, where is the noble Camillus?’ then I don’t want anyone claiming he never received his invite.

      That would be unfortunate, the wife agreed. Suddenly, she became more feisty. You mean, if somebody made an excuse not to go? Refusing the Emperor? How shameful would that be! Believe me, my husband— This time she gave an odd emphasis to the word husband. It was not clear why. With many homes to visit, the soldier had already run into marital tension of many kinds, including one bronze vase flying out from an upper window that had painfully grazed his forehead. My husband, said this woman, now sounding proud, will be honoured to dine at the palace. Of course he will! she then added, which somehow imposed a note of satire.

      Impatient, the soldier gave his list a slight shake. The senator’s wife looked politely, but still did not take the document.

      It was an unusual situation. She had been called to the door by a slave who was too nervous to accept anything from the military. Domestic staff were jumpy. Yesterday, the Emperor had returned from a season of frontier wars, bringing a rumbustious procession of legionaries. They were certainly campaign-fit, if not really as victorious as everyone pretended. They had won once because a frozen river suddenly thawed, which stopped a rebel army reaching them; they ended their other war by paying off the enemy. Neat trick, if you can find the moolah.

      Now they were here. A city full of soldiers acquires a different, more dangerous atmosphere. Large numbers of men spending their cash bonuses on drink can be vile. Doormen wanted to barricade the houses they guarded. Soldiers who brought letters from their dark commander were cause for deep suspicion and, frankly, fear.

      Here, after an irritating delay with the porter, the lady of the house had appeared in person, surrounded by elderly maids. They were all in dark colours, swathing their heads formally as they came into conjunction with men, all jingling with eastern-looking bracelets, all twittering behind their hands. In Greek. Taurinus knew Greek, it was part of basic training. He could tell when his physique was being discussed; he reckoned the senator’s wife realised he understood what her women were jabbering. She silenced them with a sharp exclamation, before he had to.

      The lady was on the young end of the spectrum, elegant and well presented in her silk drapes, yet neither pretty enough nor lively enough to interest a soldier. She had a hooked nose above a small chin, a highly superior attitude, and no sense of fun. He had met worse today however, so he faced out her disdain. Calling a woman of this class from her household tasks was an imposition; he would be lucky if the worst she said was Remember who pays your wages. A senator’s wife, even one that the senator had picked up abroad and married to oblige her father, did not expect to conduct interviews with roughnecks in red tunics on her doorstep. Nor was it her domestic role to oblige officers who had found themselves acting as postmen, even if what they were delivering had come from the Emperor.

      She had definitely decided not to sign for it. For one thing, she had spotted a key reason to say no. Her father, lately dead, had been Minas of Karystos, a master of jurisprudence. Minas, whose grasp of law was monumental even when he was tipsy—best of all when he was rolling drunk, her husband joked—her loud, florid father, deemed by many to be ghastly, had somehow found the time between riotous symposiums to make his youngest child a stickler. She signed nothing without reading it.

      The officer pushed the letter into her hand. Hosidia Meline, wife to the noble Camillus Aelianus, inspected the address label. She stared at the receipt list that she was supposed to initial. Then she drew herself up so her fine bangles

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