And I Repeat

This was wrong. Everything was wrong.   The things that surrounded me. The recent funeral of my parents. The slaves and servants who were almost proud to live in the palace. Even the fact that my family and I weren't overthrown when my father ruled – it confused me. And Caracalla seemed to think it was the way it should be. Forgive me, brother, but sooner or later we will have to make a choice. We have always been together; as long as we have each other, we can handle anything. We were supposed to handle it. But you won't want to share Rome with me. You can share sadness, grief, anger, or the love of our parents, but you won't give me power. I know this because I am not capable of such a thing myself. "Everything has always been ours" – you like to repeat that, don't you? But one change in your mood, one tiny catalyst will trigger a new round of your illness. You will stab me in the back when I least expect it, and I won't resist. I will give you all of Rome, just so you would love me.   I turned on my other side. I couldn't sleep. Today we were crowned, and it felt like my soul was burned. Now there are only two of us left, and I knew that there was no one else to take care of Caracalla. A new acquaintance… What was his name… Macrinus? I see what he's up to. I hear him whispering with my brother behind my back. I would execute him, but Caracalla gets better when he's around. He's the only person my brother has let into his life. Am I afraid that he will leave me for him? Macrinus has something to offer, but he can't offer Rome. There is no one more powerful than me. And what am I doing? Giving up without a fight? Fate is not without irony.   I drank a lot. It's always been like this. Wine clouded my mind and left only pure emotions. The way they should be. I could love Caracalla, I could give in and yield when I was drunk. Like now. But in the morning I will wake up – and everything will start all over again. My parents saw me as a leader; they loved me more than my brother, and we both knew it. It's just a mask, a desire to meet other people's expectations. And I'm so tired of playing this game. I changed women and men like a poor man changes coins for a piece of bread. They were all the same. All of them. Except for him. And he took advantage of it.   How much more wine did I have to pour down my throat to never sober up? I started to forget the last time I touched Caracalla without drinking. I couldn't bear my own love, not knowing if I was loved in return. I am the ruler of an empire, but my whole empire has shrunk to the size of one person. My brother was so ill that he began to lose his mind. I stopped understanding when he was sincere with me and when he was acting under the influence of his illness. I knew that in the end, only one of us would survive. And, as I said, I wouldn't mind giving in. Or did I say that because of the wine?   I sat up in bed. No, I definitely couldn't sleep tonight. I need someone else, I need a distraction. But who? I'm tired of the slave girls. I haven't tasted food in a long time. Gladiator fights were tedious. And I didn't care about state affairs. Macrinus. This name involuntarily popped into my head again. Caracalla likes him, but he only disgusts me. My loyal servant, Acacius, is fighting in Numidia, but as soon as he returns, I will instruct him to deal with Macrinus. Without involving the Praetorians, whom my brother is messing with, I will be able to remove this annoying monkey in secret from him. I'm not ready to die so soon, forgive me, Caracalla. If you don't love me of your own free will – I will force you.   Caracalla could sleep peacefully, knowing that he was loved. And I had no peace. In the morning I had to be the emperor, but now I was a pitiful sight. I was a pitiful sight every night, even surrounded by slaves and concubines. I saw how Caracalla looked at them – none of these people lived longer than two days. He tried to keep me close, accepting my help, my caresses, and responding to my kisses. He blushed when he met my gaze at breakfast. On the first day of our reign, he ordered games to be held in my honor, and when we watched them, he continued to hold my hand. Before going to bed tonight, he spent an hour with me in my chambers, ordering the servants to leave. But all this was not enough for me. I didn't want to share his gaze, his words – with anyone. And now he's not just mine, as he used to be.   ***   I woke up before dawn – like all of Rome. I would rather not see Caracalla sober, but today there was supposed to be a big feast in honor of the coronation. I invited a few guests, but my brother seems to have gotten carried away. The slave who gave me the scroll with the names jumped when I threw the parchment aside. He invited half the city. I know why: to announce the games. Tomorrow we will sit together in the imperial box, but Caracalla's attention will again be directed not at me. I was starting to get angry again.   I didn't want to talk to my brother, and he apparently guessed it, because when I sent for him, the servants said that he wasn't in the palace. Caracalla didn't like senate meetings, and neither did I. I sent for Gracchus – a well-known oppositionist who had interfered with my father's rule of Rome. Gracchus appeared rather quickly, and half an hour of conversation with him was enough for me to see how neglected the empire had become under my father. I didn't know what to do with that pile of problems, but I was absolutely certain that the games my brother had started were inappropriate. However, Caracalla didn't like to give in.   I spent the rest of the day before the dinner party wandering around the palace with the same thoughts. My brother never left without letting me know. I felt like I was losing control. I hated losing control.   Caracalla arrived late for dinner when everyone had already gathered. He didn't look my way. But I knew what my brother hated most – sharing his power with someone and sharing me.   I approached a girl standing near him, within his field of vision. I didn't pay attention to what she looked like, her hair or clothes. I've had so many women that I've stopped distinguishing them.   "Enjoying the evening?" I asked, my gaze fixed on my brother, not a hint of a smile on my face. The girl remained silent.   "Yes, my lord. Everything is wonderful," she said after a pause. "Especially the wine. Beyond praise."   I was still watching Caracalla. He was talking to some senator, and I was indifferent to my own conversation. I moved closer to the girl.   "You would adorn my palace," I turned to her and took a sip from my goblet. "Where are you from?"   "My parents have lived in this city all their lives, as have I. Is something distracting you?" the stranger asked, apparently noticing that I wasn't listening to her.   Out of politeness, I shifted my gaze to her. Short, painfully thin, red-haired. Slender fingers held the goblet, drops of wine glistening on her lips. She boldly looked into my eyes, as if studying my face. For a second, I forgot about my brother. I wanted to subdue that boldness. Had I already mentioned the palace to her?   "You're not the type to agree to be a concubine," I smirked. "What's your name?"   "Alfrea, my lord."   "You're poorly dressed," I remarked. The girl wasn't to my taste, but I continued to pretend that I was interested in her, wondering when my brother would execute her: tomorrow morning or would he wait a day or two?   It seemed that Altura was taken aback. Altura? I forgot her name the moment she told me. I took her by the elbow, running my hand along her shoulder and neck. Goosebumps ran across her soft olive skin. But the girl unexpectedly pulled away.   "My lord, I don't think this is a good idea."   "Women are not meant to think," I smiled, wiping the wine from her lips with my thumb. This flirtation had bored me, but Caracalla stubbornly refused to show me any attention.   The girl grinned back and looked into my eyes again.   "My lord, I am a bird not of your feather. And I have no business in the palace. My patron brought me here; I am not a frequent guest at such events."   Her voice sounded confident. But she was right — I had no shortage of women. Especially since this girl could hardly be called a beauty.   Unexpectedly, Caracalla crept up behind me when I had almost forgotten why I had started this conversation in the first place.   "Brother!" he exclaimed cheerfully, looking closely at the stranger. Jealous. As always.   "You weren't at the palace all day. Where did you go?" I asked without malice, turning to him. Altura was no longer needed, and she seemed to understand that. The girl nodded to my brother and disappeared into the crowd.   "I was looking at the Colosseum," he replied proudly, puffing out his chest. "We wanted to hold games there, remember? Father abandoned the gladiatorial fights, and the whole complex fell into disrepair. I personally allocated ten thousand denarius from the treasury for its restoration!"   I put my hand to my forehead. This folly of Caracalla's had to be stopped on the second day of his reign. But trying to dissuade him now, in front of everyone, would be useless — this was a private conversation.   Suddenly, a feeling of intoxication came over me. I could love my brother again without the veil of common sense. I brushed a strand of his red hair from his forehead and leaned close to his ear, momentarily forgetting that there were dozens of people around us.   "You haven't looked at me all evening," I whispered hotly, feeling Caracalla's breath on my neck.   "I was just a little carried away talking to the senators," he excused himself, trying to tease me. In vain.   "Come to me before bed," was my reply before I pulled away. Caracalla's cheeks flushed crimson. He understood what I was going to do.   "And that girl you were talking to? Should I hang her guts on the gate?" My brother smiled his crazy smile. This was not good.   "Altura?" I decided not to tell Caracalla that I didn't remember her real name. Deep down, I felt sorry for her. "Yes, perhaps. She's too ugly for such a city and for this palace. I don't understand how she even got here. She said she had a patron."   "Shall we feed him to the lions?" My brother's face was distorted by the familiar expression of madness. He was losing his mind when it came to executions.   "We are emperors now," I raised my goblet triumphantly. "The gods have spoken."   Caracalla chuckled and took a sip from his goblet.   "Well, brother, shall we announce the games?" he placed the goblet on the marble table, rubbing his hands. His clear blue eyes were shaded by gloom, like diamonds in a dark box.   I sighed wearily. This crazy idea definitely wouldn't lead to anything good, just like the lions and the guts on the gate. My brother needed help, but there were only scavengers like Macrinus around. I would really like to hang his guts, it's a pity that Caracalla didn't understand how dangerous this man was. I led my brother to the center of the hall, and the noise of the crowd, gossip and political intrigues immediately subsided.   "Come on, Caracalla. Your turn," I whispered to him, and the diamonds in his eyes shone.   ***   "God, Caracalla, calm down," I said casually, tired of repeating the same thing for two hours. "Don't you have enough slaves?"   Caracalla walked back and forth across the room and diagonally, throwing things from one corner to another.   "I want a poet!" he shouted in a voice not his own. "Why do we always do what you say?! As if you're in charge! I'm an emperor too, I…"   He sat down on the bed and covered his face with his hands. Apparently, he was tired of yelling, and he decided to use his favorite way of negotiating with me — to cry. It never worked, but my brother seemed to refuse to notice it.   "I don't mind a poet," I lied. "But think for yourself: some dirty barbarian gladiator reading ancient poems… We have so many beautiful young men in the palace, and you're stubborn as a donkey."   "I'm not a donkey!" Caracalla shouted through his tears. "And he's not dirty! Have you seen his hands, brother? Strong… And the torso, and the calves? He's like Apollo, carved out of stone! How would he look between my legs…"   Caracalla continued to cry. I was more jealous of this poet than anyone else in my life. And why did I even decide to let my brother hold useless games? All because of Macrinus. It's his slave that's about to draw attention to himself. And Acacius still hasn't returned "and the situation is only getting worse. His entire army, the entire fleet — everyone returned, but he seemed to have fallen through the earth. Caracalla became more and more unpredictable and irritable every day, and, as luck would have it, Macrinus seemed to be spinning around on purpose.   "Stop whining," I snapped irritably. "I said: no poet. We were crowned last week; finally we are together. As always dreamed. The father's corpse hadn't even cooled down yet, and you're dragging some Numidian rhymer into our bed. "Apollo"! What are you talking about?"   Caracalla fell silent and looked at me. I went up to him and knelt down in front of him.   "Don't you love me at all?" I asked, sincerely doubting his answer. "Am I not enough for you?"   Tears were still streaming down my brother's cheeks. I caught myself not being able to understand how fake they were.   "I love you, brother," Caracalla sniffled and hugged me to his chest. "I know you doubt me. I would like to become different and be worthy of you. But I'm sick, I know that too. It's not your fault, you shouldn't bother with me like that."   He sniffled again and started crying again. This time, it seems, for real.   "I… I don't control myself, brother," he muttered through tears. "I don't understand who wishes me well. I push you away and then come back. That evening, remember? When we announced the games. I saw you talking to that girl, but I didn't come up, on purpose. I wanted to hurt you… I don't know why."   I couldn't be angry with him. I knew that he knew. And he knew that I knew and so on ad infinitum. Sometimes Caracalla had a desire to talk frankly. True, he usually spoke, and I was silent. Since the death of my father, there have been no such conversations, and I had nothing to say to my brother. It seemed to me that he was moving away from me on purpose, that he no longer needed me, but only power. I was restrained. I never ordered any of his lovers to be executed, although I intended to many times. But this poet… I saw how Caracalla looked at him. I knew that look. And before, only I was honored with it.   "Listen," I began, "I want to mess with you. But you must understand that the people around us are not our friends. We have no friends. We have each other, and that's enough. The Senate, Macrinus, the poet — they are just shadows. The sun will rise, and they will dissolve in time, as if they never existed. Look at me," I approached his face. "If you let me, I will love you. I will always love you, okay?"   Caracalla nodded. He shifted his gaze from one of my eyes to the other. His face was wet with tears, his hair was disheveled, and the wreath was about to slip off.   "I will try to live up to your expectations, brother. I will try very hard, but I need time. I have dreamed of you for so long, I counted the days until our damn father would be in the grave. He almost ruined the empire. And, what's worse, he almost ruined our bond. And now that you are mine, I don't know what to do. And my illness…" Caracalla rubbed his temples. "It's eating me from the inside. I feel my brain betraying me, and my body falling apart. I don't have much time left, I know that. But, worst of all, I'm afraid to hurt you. Not the kind they write poems about, but the pain of betrayal. I know I'm capable of it. You will deny everything, but you just don't understand what thoughts sometimes spin in my head."   While Caracalla was saying all this, he broke down crying several times. Contrary to his expectations, I didn't deny anything. I understood everything perfectly. Every night I couldn't sleep because I was thinking about the same thing. The doctors shrugged, and all I could do was be there as long as possible. While Caracalla still saw me as an ally, not a competitor.   I kissed my brother on the forehead when he started saying something completely incoherent. In my arms, he always relaxed, and this time Caracalla fell asleep almost immediately.   I lay there for a while, then silently left his chambers and headed to my office, summoning a servant. The girl handed me a scroll and reported the latest news about Acacius's army, and, most importantly, about his return to the city. I immediately sent for him. Macrinus turned out to be more dangerous than I expected.   It wasn't hard to guess where Caracalla's thoughts of betrayal came from. My investigators had long reported that Caracalla was not successful in the Senate, which meant that no one in the Senate would be interested in the scenario of ruling Rome through my brother's dictatorship. Rather, the opposite: it would be more beneficial for them if I ruled alone. The only person Caracalla had a connection with was Macrinus. And no matter what I tell him, Macrinus won't go anywhere.   The poet was a separate headache. To kill Macrinus meant to appropriate his slaves. And if this Numidian ended up at my brother's disposal, all the attention would be directed at him. Caracalla must be mine. We dreamed about it together. I had to get rid of the slave, but as long as he was with Macrinus, he posed no threat. He needs to be killed in the arena of the Colosseum. I could arrange that.   The last thing that occurred to me was Alturia. My brother had long given the order for her execution, but, as sometimes happened, he forgot to attend it. If Alturia was exposed and actually executed… Well, sad. Well, if they never really found her by her real name, then she's alive. A useless girl with loose hair, like a cheap prostitute, in a dust-stained tunic, without rings or earrings. How did she get into the palace? Why didn't I think of this before? She said she had a patron. But who? The guest list was huge, I could never find this person. Logic suggested that I should arrange another reception, and invite the same people, and my heart asked "Why should I look for some beggar?"   I sat for a couple of minutes in complete silence, listening to my intuition. A beggar girl in the palace, under someone's patronage. A bold look. Lack of ambition. Apparently, she didn't need money either. She didn't want to be a concubine. As soon as my brother appeared, she instantly disappeared. Something was wrong here. I had to figure this out before dealing with Macrinus.   I ordered the servant to arrange a reception next week, inviting the same people who were at the coronation celebration. For the upcoming games in the Colosseum with the participation of Macrinus' gladiators, I gave the order to put up my best fighter. As soon as I did this, Acacius entered the office.   "My lord," he said and bowed. I pointed to a chair, but the commander remained standing. I already knew where to start the conversation.   "Acacius, you are a hero of Rome. Your conquests will glorify you. But why don't you honor my brother and me with a visit? You conquered Numidia, your wife enjoys the privileges she was given. But it's as if you don't need it," I said these words slowly, drawing them out to create a tense atmosphere. Acacius had a large army under his command, and it was important to me that he feared me.   "I conquer not for my own glory, but for the greatness of Rome. But, my lord, doesn't Rome have enough territory?" I noticed that Acacius looked away. He held himself confidently, but there was something that betrayed his anxiety.   "Persia. India. Rome has room to grow. Tell me, why don't you want to look at me?"   "My lord, does it matter?" he finally looked up.   "Acacius, your contribution cannot be overestimated. Rome is the greatest empire, and it is a great honor to serve it and the emperor. Will you really refuse me?"   The commander was silent. For a second, I thought he was up to something.   "Emperor Geta, I am a servant of Rome. I served your father when you were still a child, and now that you are in his place, I will serve you."   Acacius was clearly being cautious. But I had more urgent intentions than finding out what was wrong with him, so I dismissed the thought and decided to get down to business.   "You are a skilled orator. Tell me, do you know a man named Macrinus?"   "Thank you, my lord. As far as I know, he kept gladiators many years ago. But then your father stopped holding the games, and Macrinus lay low somewhere in the province. You know, gladiator fights never gave me pleasure, but—"   "Enough," I interrupted him. "I have an assignment for you."   "I'm listening, Emperor," Acacius instantly perked up.   "Macrinus is here now, in Rome. Sometimes he comes to the palace. I want your men to put him under surveillance. I want to know where he lives, who he sleeps with, where he gets his income from. If he sneezes, I want to know about that too."   "My lord, aren't such assignments within the power of the Praetorians?"   "Are you refusing me?" I lowered my voice.   Acacius hesitated. But I knew he couldn't refuse.   "It will be done. How long do I need to watch?"   I barely suppressed a grin.   "Until I say stop. Every day early in the morning I need a report. Let one of your people come to me. And, yes, make sure my brother doesn't find out our secret."   "Emperor Caracalla shouldn't know?" the commander was surprised.   "No one should know," I clarified.   Acacius sighed, looked down at his feet again, then bowed and left. Perhaps I just needed to chop off Macrinus's head, but I decided that until I found out anything about that beggar woman, I would lie low and observe what was happening in my own empire. After all, Caracalla announced two months of games, which means that most of the time we will spend together, watching the arena of the Colosseum.