Nest of Vipers (21 page)

One week later: Lucius Ennius, a wealthy
equestrian, is charged with treason
for melting down a silver statue of the
Emperor to use as plate

The bewildered steward stared open-mouthed at the gesturing, jabbering man who clung to the doorway for support, raving like a madman trying to make a fantastical story seem real.

'He is patrician,' the
nomenclator
slave at the steward's shoulder whispered as they both stared at the man. 'The accent suggests it – and it suggests that he's from Rome, as well.'

Claudius pointed wildly into the sumptuous rooms behind them, stammering on.

'You've never seen this man before?' the steward whispered back to his colleague.

The
nomenclator
shook his head. 'It's my job to remember names for the
dominus
– and I've never seen this poor bastard in my life.'

Claudius's stammer intensified, the desperation stark in his face.

'Give him some watered wine,' ordered the steward.

The
nomenclator
thrust a cup into Claudius's hand, but he shook so much that it slipped from his grip and clattered to the tiles.

'He's having a fit,' said the steward. 'I saw things like this in the wars.'

'Will it kill him?' said the
nomenclator
in alarm.

The steward stepped forward and punched Claudius squarely in the eye. 'Not now it won't.'

Claudius screamed and threw his hands up to protect himself, before falling into an abrupt and fearful silence.

The two slaves raised their eyebrows at one another and then addressed Claudius slowly and deliberately, as they would a child. 'The admiral, our master, is not home,
domine
.'

'Not him I want to see . . .' Claudius managed to gasp, his breath jagged in his chest as he tried to pull himself together.

'Who, then?'

'The blinding love . . . the rarest of birds . . .'

The slaves cast shocked looks at each other.

'Must meet her . . . it's why I've come . . . it's been foretold.'

'But how do you even know about her . . .?' asked the steward in astonishment.

'Thrasyllus foretold . . . and today is Mercury . . .'

Looks of fear came to the servants' faces. 'Our master is not home,' the
nomenclator
said hurriedly again. 'He is out at sea. Please go now,
domine
.'

'No,' stammered Claudius. 'I must meet her . . . It's why I've come . . . for the rarest of birds . . .'

'Who are you?' demanded the steward.

'Tiberius Claudius Nero Germanicus,' Claudius spat out in a rush. 'Nephew of the Emperor.'

The two slaves went white. Then they threw themselves onto the floor of the entrance hall. 'Spare us,
domine
!'

Claudius broke wind in his hurry, staggering past the prostrate servants into the middle of the admiral's exquisite atrium. 'Where is she?' he shouted into the void. 'Let me see my precious child!'

The servants scrambled to their feet to pursue him. 'We'll have to show her to him.'

'We've got no choice in it!'

'Where is she?' Claudius wailed.

'The
tablinum
,
domine
– she's in the master's study!'

They reached him just as he flung back the embroidered curtain that divided the atrium from the admiral's private room. The curtain ripped from its rings, spilling at their feet in a billowing bundle.

Claudius stared into the lavishly decorated study. It was empty. 'Where is she?'

'You are looking at her,
domine
.'

An outraged shriek pitched Claudius to the floor and he threw his hands to his mouth in horror. A ghost-grey Fury bestrode the admiral's desk, filling the room with a volcanic anger that burned in her face as she fixed him with her pus-coloured eyes. Claudius tried to flee on his knees but she leaped to the floor and advanced upon him, flinging her feathered arms high in the air.

Claudius's screams of terror proved even louder than her cries of abject disgust.

In Rome a Palatine father was presented with his firstborn child. He looked at the tiny thing swaddled in linen at his feet, while the midwives waited with bated breath, praying to Diana that he'd pick the baby up.

'Is it a girl then?' he asked them flatly.

The midwives nodded, keenly aware that a son had been hoped for. 'And the
domina
is doing well – very little blood lost in the labour,' the older of them added.

But the father made no move to embrace the child. He tapped the baby lightly with his foot. The baby squirmed a little but didn't stir. 'Is it healthy?'

'Very healthy. She will be a beautiful child, you can see it in her tiny face – an asset to you,
domine
.'

The father stood up, stepping over the baby. The midwives looked at each other in confusion – then looked to the wet nurse.

'
Domine
?' the wet nurse asked.

The father stopped.

'Are you . . . rejecting this child?'

'Don't be a fool.'

Relief flooded the servants. 'You have a name for her, then,
domine
?'

'Her name will honour mine, not her mother's,' was all he said over his shoulder before leaving the room.

The servants looked at each other again for a moment, and the wet nurse took up a clean wax tablet from her master's desk. 'The family name is Messala,' she told the midwives. 'We will find a name for her from that.' She scratched down a few letters, disliked what they made, and scratched them out before trying another derivative. 'There,' she said.

The oldest midwife cradled the tiny girl again. 'What is she called then?'

The wet nurse showed her the name: Messalina. They all agreed that it was as pretty a name as any inauspicious daughter could ask for.

'You'll find a husband one day who loves you more than Daddy does,' the old midwife whispered reassuringly to the baby.

'That won't be hard,' the wet nurse muttered.

Claudius came to consciousness to find the Fury perched on a chair back, looking disdainfully at him where he lay on the floor. The panicky servants tried to force more watered wine into his hands.

'The rarest of birds . . .' he stammered.

'She is very rare,' agreed the
nomenclator
. 'Rarer than a jewel.'

'The admiral brought her back from Egypt,' the steward added. 'He said the Pharaoh breeds them.'

Claudius realised that this Fury was not much larger than a raven.

'He says she's a parrot, but she's not a very pretty one.'

'What she lacks in looks she has gained in brains.'

'H – how . . .?' Claudius stuttered.

The servants stared at each other in exasperation, brought to their wits' end by his unfathomable behaviour. 'You told us you knew of her. You keep calling her "rare"!'

'That's why we let you in here,
domine
!'

Claudius fell into stammering again and slopped the wine.

The steward and the
nomenclator
stood up in disgust. 'It's because she can talk,
domine
, just like a man!'

Watered wine ran down Claudius's neck. 'That's . . . that's impossible.'

The servants folded their arms in scorn and cocked their heads at the Fury. 'What do you say to that, then, bird?'

The ghost-grey parrot span on the chair back, presenting her behind to Claudius. She lifted her tail and expelled a shower of thick, milky excrement at him, before spinning around to stare again defiantly.

'Veiovis!' the Fury shrieked.

The wet nurse brought in the baby girl to lie next to her sleeping mother. The newborn stirred and the wet nurse hushed the child. The young mother woke; aged barely seventeen, she was little more than a child herself.

'Has he seen her?' Lepida whispered.

'Shush, now – you should rest,' the wet nurse soothed.

'Has my husband seen her?'

The wet nurse nodded.

'Did he name her Messalina?'

The wet nurse didn't like to say that she herself had given the baby this name since the father had shown so little interest. 'It is a very pretty sound upon the tongue,' she said, pleased that Lepida seemed to have hoped for this very name for the girl herself.

Lepida smiled and sank into her cushions, snuggling the tiny baby to her. It was as if unexpressed anxieties washed from the young mother's face. A serenity took her, and the wet nurse was heartened to see it. All mothers should be at peace when safely delivered of a longed-for child, she believed.

She smoothed Lepida's brow. 'The next one will be a boy, just you wait and see. Then your husband will call you his queen.'

Lepida seemed far away. 'I will not be a queen,' she whispered. 'It is not my fate.'

The wet nurse wanted to assure the girl that she didn't mean this literally, but when Lepida appeared to fall asleep, the other woman tiptoed from the birth room to take her place upon the pallet outside the door.

Alone with her child, Lepida's eyes were closed, but she was not yet with Somnus, treading lightly in the netherworld between wakefulness and dreams.

'Do you see her, Mother?' she whispered into the night air. 'Do you see her here with me?' In Lepida's mind, the gentle spirit of her dead mother, Aemilia, was strong inside the room. 'She has joined us at last.' Lepida kissed her baby's silken head. 'Her destiny begins, and the destiny of the Aemilii with her. You can sleep in peace now, Mother. All is in place for the rarest of birds . . .'

Castor awoke in the night and sensed an animal in his room. It was not Livilla's pup – she kept the beast so perfumed that its presence was unmistakable. This beast had a smell of its own, one he couldn't place. It was neither fetid nor stale. It was not unpleasant.

Castor lay still in his bed for a moment, trying to identify what the animal was and why it might have brought itself to his sleeping room. It made no noise upon the floor. The sound of its breathing was indiscernible. Castor felt no fear of being harmed by it. He slowly sat upright and swung his feet to the floor. The smooth, cool scales that he immediately felt beneath his soles told him what his visitor was: a serpent, lying in wait for him. He identified the smell – desert sands and hot winds.

The snake didn't wiggle beneath his feet or arch backwards to bite him. It stayed as still as a stone – and yet it was very much alive, because Castor could feel the minute expansion of its lungs taking in air. Carefully, he lifted his feet again, giving his eyes time to adjust to the darkness. The serpent writhed free and slid noiselessly along the floor. It paused once, turning its head to look directly at him.

'Why are you here?' Castor asked. Even if the serpent had answered him, Castor would have remained unafraid, because he knew already that this was no earthly animal. It was a portent. The snake continued towards the door and into the corridor outside, lingering near the sleeping form of Lygdus on his slave's pallet. Castor gently shook the eunuch awake.

'What is it,
domine
?'

Castor pointed into the shadows. Lygdus gave a little cry of fear but Castor placed his hand across his mouth. 'Ssh. I don't want anyone else to know.'

Lygdus's eyes were wide, but he nodded. The serpent held him in its night-black gaze in a way that almost seemed to mock him.

'Come with me as I follow it,' Castor said.

Lygdus paled. 'Follow it,
domine
?'

'You are valued by me,' said Castor. 'I want you to see it too and be my witness to whatever it may reveal.'

In the darkness Lygdus blushed with unexpected emotion. Castor was already advancing down the corridor and Lygdus began to follow. He did not know why, but somehow he sensed that the serpent was here not only for the master, but for the slave as well.

The low sounds of voices stirred me from my own slumber. In the darkness of my
domina
's room I listened from where I lay at the foot of Livia's great bed. There were two men approaching – I could hear the padding of their bare feet upon the floor tiles. I recognised the tread of one. 'Lygdus?' I muttered. 'Is that you?'

Something cold brushed against my face where I lay. I gave a shout of fright and leaped up. My bare feet made contact with dry, scaly flesh. 'A snake!'

I ran to throw open the window shutters to let in the light of the moon. When I turned back to the room, in my terror I saw the ghostly faces of Castor and Lygdus staring at the floor.

'
Domine
,' I gasped. 'I felt a serpent!'

Lygdus gave me a beseeching, fearful look and Castor pointed at the carved leg of Livia's bed. The small, thin form of an infant viper was entwined around the carving. 'There it is – kill it!' I said. But none of us moved.

The viper slowly wound itself up the bed leg until it reached the edge of my
domina
's woollen mattress. Then it disappeared beneath the linen.

'It will bite her!' I cried. Neither Lygdus nor Castor made any move, so I ripped the linen from Livia's sleeping form, shaking it in horror. Nothing emerged. Gripped by fear, I beat the mattress around my
domina
's body, hoping to drive the snake out of hiding. But when nothing came, I was forced to feel beneath her torso and limbs for any sign of the serpent.

There was nothing there. The viper had vanished. Livia remained in deepest sleep.

I saw the look in Castor's eyes again – an expression echoed by Lygdus. 'It was a message,' Castor said. 'A message from the gods, I think.'

I was bewildered. 'From the gods,
domine
?'

Castor stayed silent for some time, pondering. 'From one god, I believe. The Divine Augustus.'

This left me utterly incredulous, but I struggled hard to hide it.

'He watches over my grandmother from Olympus. He loved her so very much, you know. Well, of course you know, Iphicles.'

I said nothing, knowing far more than Castor could ever be privy to.

'He sent the serpent to me and I followed it all the way here, to my grandmother's bed. It is obvious what he meant to tell me.'

I went very still. 'Yes,
domine
?'