Opening the door at the top of the staircase, I beheld Nonus Marcianus seated on my stool, a cup of wine in his hands. He was engaged in an intense conversation, in Greek, with Cassia.
Neither looked around as I entered, unaware of my presence until I closed the heavy door rather loudly.
Cassia started, and then quickly made a note on the tablet at her side—recording the time I’d returned home.
“Leonidas!” Marcianus rose, his smile wide as he greeted me. “Trust you to uncover another intriguing problem.”
“What problem?” I bolted the door behind me and returned my strigil to its place on the shelf.
“This extraordinary ring you found.” Marcianus sat down again, but he moved himself to the stool Cassia had obtained for guests, leaving me my seat. “We’ve been translating the inscription.”
That Marcianus could read Etruscan didn’t surprise me. He was a learned man who’d lived for a long time in Athens and other cities in the Greek-speaking world. He’d once told me he’d become the medicus to Aemil’s gladiators not for the pay, but because it was an opportunity to study the human body and how it worked.
“Nonus Marcianus kindly lent me a few scrolls and helped me in the decipherment.” Cassia sent a grateful look to Marcianus, one of her favorite people.
It struck me that, unlike me, Cassia never shied from seeking friendship. She favored those who were intelligent and well-read, like Marcianus and Gallus, but she’d also befriended dancers, basketmakers, and other slaves. As a slave herself, she could not presume on the friendship to be returned or even acknowledged, but she did not let this bother her. Most people seemed to like Cassia anyway, though she could be aloof to those she did not care for, such as Hesiodos.
Marcianus waved me to my stool. “Sit down, Leonidas, and we will tell you all.”
I took my place, reaching for the wine Cassia poured for me. She’d made a friend of the wine merchant downstairs as well—he let her purchase good vintages for a lesser price.
Cassia held the ring between her fingers. “The writing is Etruscan, as I suspected. Nonus Marcianus confirmed it.”
“Ancient?” I asked. I had only a vague idea when the Etruscans had been prominent in the Roman world. Anything before my birth seemed very long ago to me.
“The ring is old, yes,” Marcianus said. “How old, I can’t venture to say. The inscription states, however, that this ring belonged to a king.”
Both he and Cassia paused so I could be stunned. I raised my brows, but disappointed them by not falling to the floor in wonder.
“It must have been stolen then,” I concluded. “Taken from Etruria long ago by a thief. Maybe stashed in whatever building was on the site before and forgotten.”
Marcianus and Cassia exchanged a glance, as though I’d missed something. It was irritating when they did that.
“Several of the kings of Rome, before the Republic, were Etruscan,” Marcianus told me in a gentle voice. Explaining history to the ignorant gladiator was a favorite pastime of his. “The last was Lucius Tarquinius Superbus—Tarquinius the Proud. His tyranny included assassinating the previous king and then executing anyone he thought loyal to that monarch. Then his son raped a virtuous Roman matron, who killed herself rather than bring shame to her family. All this led to Romans expelling Tarquinius and declaring, never again.”
“It is why Augustus called himself princeps,” Cassia said. “The First Citizen. Not a king. His successors have done the same.”
I did not know much about politics, but from what I could see, Nero had almost absolute power. He decided what the armies would do, and he’d acquired a massive home and great wealth. The senate met and debated but not with the same strength as they had during the Republic. Nero’s word decided all.
“Maybe this Tarquinius dropped it.” I drained my wine cup and set it down with a thump. “Or had it stolen from him, as I say.”
“Possibly.” Marcianus exchanged another glance with Cassia. “But this ring is a bit different from a king’s trinket.”
“How?” By their expressions, they both wanted me to ask the question. They must have been impatient for me to return so they could reveal their knowledge.
“The inscription is something of a prophecy,” Marcianus explained. “It says that this ring belonged to the last Tarquinius and that another king of his lineage will emerge, put on the ring, and claim the throne.”
Again, I disappointed the two by not clutching my chest and exclaiming out loud. “That was a long time ago, wasn’t it?” I asked without excitement. “Hundreds of years?”
“More than five hundred,” Cassia said.
“Would any of Tarquinius’s family still exist?” I asked.
Marcianus shrugged. “Perhaps his direct descendants would not, but some of the older families of Rome trace their lineage to that time—patricians who now despise Nero. If you and Cassia sell this ring, what would stop a man who bought it, perhaps from one of these old families, from stepping forward and claiming he is the true heir to the throne of Rome?”
“He’d be a fool.” I reached for the wine jug and poured myself another cup. I was relaxed from my exercise, bath, and walk, and more worried about how Vibius and I would get along than any strange prophecy on an old ring. “The praetorian guard would arrest him, and we’d never hear from him again.”
“Sadly, such men can build loyal followings,” Marcianus said. “For instance, senators who are not too happy with our princeps might like a man who talked about overthrowing him. Nero is loved by the plebs, but the patricians have been hampered by him for too long. A dangerous thing, for a ring to turn up to claim precedence over Nero. Nero is related to Augustus, a boon for him, but he is far down the line, and the way he came to power was spurious.”
