Nest of Vipers (29 page)

The front door groaned on its pivots as the guards struck it again with the ram.

'You defile this home!' Antonia screamed at the men outside. 'How dare you insult us like this!'

In the terror of the moment I noticed Little Boots. He gave me a look that was reckless and defiant; he was excited by what was happening and not frightened at all. I realised what he meant to do. 'No!' I hissed at him.

He sprang past his grandmother and into the entrance hall.

'Little Boots!' cried Agrippina.

I could only stare in dread, my hopes of controlling him gone. He was not a boy, and he planned to prove it to me here and now. He wanted to be the one who let in his brother's doom.

Antonia lurched after him. 'Gaius – don't!'

Little Boots wrenched back the bolt from the door just as the guards swung the ram again. The door flew inwards, striking Little Boots hard in the face and flinging him backwards. Blood and spittle sprayed in the air.

A bull of a man, ugly and coarse, Tribune Macro filled the hall as he entered it, taking a cursory glance at Little Boots slumped on the floor tiles. Antonia stood rigidly before him, opening and closing her mouth to speak, but finding that her words had dried up. Senator Silius rolled forward, placing a protective hand upon Antonia's shoulder as he met Macro's eye without fear or contempt, unassailable in his dignity.

'You would break these noble women, Tribune? Is that what you intend to do?'

Macro looked him up and down. 'Who are you, sir?'

'I am Gaius Silius, senator and general,' he said, drawing himself up to his full height and hoping his unflattering dining
tunica
was well hidden beneath his cloak.

Macro nodded to the two Praetorians who had entered behind him. The men moved past Macro, brandishing chains. 'Then I am here to arrest you, senator and general.'

Cries of shock came from the women. Drusus stared dumbly about him in disbelief. He was not the one the Praetorians had come for at all.

Silius paled, but he retained his composure. 'And what is the charge, Tribune?'

Macro smiled. The question didn't really need to be asked, given that the answer was the same for everyone. 'Treason,' he said, then adding as an afterthought, 'and extortion.'

Sosia threw herself into the hall, livid at the outrage. 'You filthy scum! This man was awarded a triumph barely a year ago! This man crushed the rebellion of Sacrovir and held his own army in unbroken loyalty to the Emperor when others around him fell into mutiny. This man is owed a debt by Tiberius!'

We held our breaths to see what would come from this outcry. Bleeding on the floor, Little Boots began to cry.

'Are you his wife?' Macro asked.

'I am Sosia Galla, wife of Silius and mother of his children.'

A second length of chains was produced by the men. 'Then I am here to arrest you too,' said Macro. 'You were in league with the rebel Sacrovir as man and wife – you profited from his rebellion. The charges are the same – treason and extortion.'

Agrippina gave a piercing scream, gripping her hair in her hands. Then she ran across the atrium to the wall where the wax masks of her ancestors rested in alcoves.

'Mother!' cried Nilla.

Agrippina pressed her lips to the wax image of Germanicus. Then she snatched up the sword she kept hidden behind his mask.

'Mother, no!' Nilla screamed. 'It is not our time for this –'

But Agrippina was deaf to her daughter as she advanced slowly upon Macro, her face black with hatred, the sword clutched in her fist.

Flamma came in from the garden, still wearing his straw hat and with his feet brown and bare from where he had been lazing in the afternoon sun while instructing Burrus in his sword practice. Agrippina turned and saw the gladiator and the slave-boy following behind him. Livilla saw Flamma too, and astonishment marked her face. She had never encountered him before and had no idea who or what he was. All she knew was that this was a man of obvious and considerable strength.

Flamma held Agrippina with his eyes, and with an almost imperceptible movement of his head he signalled 'no'. Her lower lip trembling, Agrippina stayed where she was, but her arm that held the sword lowered slowly to her side before her strength left her entirely. Drusus was able to catch his mother before she fell and struck her head on the tiles. The two youngest girls rushed to Agrippina's side, trying to rouse her. Flamma stayed in the atrium just long enough to determine that his mistress was unhurt, before he retired again, taking Burrus with him. The boy-slave looked over his shoulder just once to catch eyes with Nilla. She nodded to him that she was not frightened or hurt.

Livilla took in the entire scene with amazement. I saw the quick, loaded look she cast at Macro, who had not moved a muscle or barely blinked an eye.

'Well, then,' he said finally to the room.

Silius and Sosia were dragged out the front door and into the street by the guards. There they found a mob awaiting them.

'
It's them! Look, it's them!
'

Silius's cloak fell open as the Praetorians bound his hands, exposing his lurid dining
tunica
. The jeers were exultant.

'
Look what he's wearing!
'

The mob's attendance had been paid for by Sejanus, of course.

In all this horror and disgrace Little Boots moaned pathetically in a heap, his face crushed and bloody from where the door had struck him. I confess that at that moment I hoped he would be scarred by it for life.

Sejanus returned home, feeling weary and drained. He closed his eyes as his slaves removed his bronze cuirass and boots, and when they made to remove the rest of his garments he made no argument. He liked them to admire his nakedness, enjoying their envy. He opened his eyes as his undergarments were removed and saw the large Laconian dog in the atrium, waiting patiently with its head on its paws.

Sejanus was thrown, recognising the animal.

'It belongs to a visitor,
domine
,' said the steward.

Sejanus knew who the visitor must be.

The steward bowed. 'She arrived, wishing to speak to you when you returned. Because she is the Emperor's daughter-inlaw I knew you would never object to me admitting her – or her dog.'

'Of course not,' said Sejanus, betraying nothing.

'She is waiting in the
tablinum
.'

'And where is my wife?'

'The mistress Apicata is at the baths with her maids.' Then, as if it were of no account, the steward added, 'She is not expected for some hours yet,
domine
.'

Sejanus met the eyes of his steward, but the man hinted at nothing. His face was a servile mask. The steward clapped his hands and a fresh
tunica
was pulled over Sejanus's head.

'Has the Lady Livilla been given wine while she waits for me?' Sejanus asked as the
tunica
was tugged down his chest and torso.

'Of course,
domine
.'

With Sejanus properly dressed, the steward and the other slaves bowed and peeled away to the corridors that led from the reception rooms. Sejanus strode across the atrium towards his curtained study at the other end, watching the loyal dog by the wall. Scylax lifted his head.

'You are the only slave attending your mistress?'

Scylax wagged his tail.

'You grow ever more prized, then.'

The dog returned his head to his paws.

Sejanus flung the curtain aside, both angered and aroused by Livilla's risk-taking. 'You are reckless,' he whispered.

The room was empty.

'Livilla?'

An empty goblet stood on a side table next to a jug of wine. Most of the contents had been consumed. He saw the young maid Calliope dart across the courtyard beyond the room. She froze when she saw her master, but she was already frightened by something else, it was clear.

'Get to the kitchens,' he called out to her.

The girl scurried into the shade.

'Wait.'

The girl froze again. Sejanus left his study, descending the row of steps that led into the peristyle garden. Calliope visibly shook as he approached her.

'You tell your mistress anything – anything at all – and I will know about it, girl, understand me? Then I'll kill you for it.'

Calliope nodded, her teeth knocking together in her mouth.

'Only I will ever win – not my wife and certainly not her slaves.'

Calliope's teeth clinked like pebbles.

'Go.'

The girl fled.

When Sejanus entered the sleeping room he shared with his wife, he found Livilla lying face-down upon the bed, with cushions beneath her sex to raise her rump for him. He tore the fresh
tunica
from his body and spread his fingers at her rear, savouring the heat of her lust for him. 'Stay silent, my love,' he murmured. 'Stay as still as a tomb.'

Livilla made no noise at all as he claimed her. Why would she? The love she gave her god was as silent as it was sacred, and she relished its continued secrecy. It inflamed her, even though she gained such perverse pleasure from risking exposure. And Livilla's knowledge that her enemy, Apicata, also slept in the very place she now defiled was almost as heartwarming as the knowledge that the little coffin with its decapitated doll still rested undiscovered beneath the bed.

As Sejanus reached his climax, a tiny voice kissed the air near Livilla's ear.

'
One would-be queen knows hunger's pangs when Cerberus conducts her
. . .'

Startled, she turned her head to see who'd spoken. There was no one else there. Sejanus fell spent at her side. The voice had not been his – it was a woman's tongue, a voice from far away. Livilla did not feel frightened, only puzzled. What had been meant?

Movement at the door distracted her as Sejanus sank into sleep. It was Scylax. Half-pinned beneath her lover, Livilla wouldn't risk waking him by shifting herself. She stretched her arm to the edge of the bed and wiggled her fingers. Scylax padded up to her and began licking her hand.

Livilla drifted into sleep, tickled by the hungry dog.

Two months later: Emperor Tiberius
Julius Caesar Augustus refuses, without
explanation, all requests to award a
triumph to General Publius Cornelius
Dolabella, victor over Tacfarinas

The sun was warm, the breeze sweet and fresh and clean. There were swallows in the sky, spiralling high and free in the blue. The clamour at his feet was inconsequential in such loveliness, on such a perfect day, when he was feeling such wellbeing and relief as he took his place in the chair upon the summit of the Arx. Silius held himself proudly, straightening his back against the hard wooden board. As the boys pushed the cord through, threading it under his chin and then out through the board again, Silius smiled indulgently at them. He was not distressed, he wanted them to know; he was not in despair. The day was too pretty for it.

The cord tightened almost at once, yet Silius barely noticed, distracted by the boys' whispers. 'You mean to offend me?' he asked them. 'Humiliate me, lads? My great achievements were my only crime. My success has brought me here – nothing less than that. I'm flattered by what it's given me.' He went to add more but found he couldn't. His larynx was crushed. No matter.

The Temple of Capitoline Jupiter stood in serene splendour to his right; to his left and in front of him, as far as his eyes could see, Rome spread out like a tiler's mosaic. The long white strip of the Gemonian Stairs ran from his feet down the slope of the Arx, reminding Silius of a German stream bobbing with broken ice. The limbs and heads and torsos of those who had sat in the chair before him were like pebbles in this stream; the dogs that feasted upon the carrion were like frogs.

Silius lifted his eyes and gazed with fascination at his city, filling his heart with its streets and temples, its forums and gardens, its theatres, mansions and slums. He saw now that there were swirls and patterns he had never seen before among the seven teeming hills he thought he knew like he knew his own hands. It was as though a god's hand had formed the design, and not a million petty men across a thousand violent years. The city was divine indeed from this lofty view, and it comforted Silius, seated as he was so near to the gods. The boys began to twist the cord tighter, enjoying their task – once, twice and again. No final words allowed? No matter.

Silius had said all he had to say; there was nothing left to his life's great experience but simply
being
. He was content with that. He had earned it, he felt. He had devoted his life to fighting for Rome, and it was good to know with certainty that he had devoted himself to something so worthy. He had done his duty, everyone knew, and Rome was destined to endure even when those who had built and loved and glorified it perished, one by one, right up to the very greatest.

He took what air he could before the cord prevented him and he felt his windpipe crush. He could still see, he could still hear, but the cord bit deep and his head fell forward on its own. He looked again down the stairs. The dogs were waiting for him now, wagging their tails and calling. He smiled indulgently once more and tried to reach out his hands to make them come closer. But he couldn't move. No matter. It was enough to see their happy looks, their licking tongues, their excited dancing.

He felt his vision fade, and with it his pain, before the cord was loosened abruptly. The boys pulled it from his throat and in surprise he went to place his hands at the wound before recalling, again, that movement was beyond him. His throat throbbed and his pain and vision rushed back. Confused, he tried to shout out, 'It isn't done yet, fools – I'm still here, aren't I? The job isn't finished.' Then he guessed that this was the new procedure. Executions had changed from the days of the Tarpeian Rock.

When the boys waved the hook in front of him, Silius felt gratitude. An extra moment of life was a treasure still, a gift from the skies. When they drove the barb deep into his belly and up through his ribs, he smiled as his head lolled to and fro in mockery of their inept cruelty. 'You want agony?' he smirked at them. 'You should see what the Germans do. This is a picnic by the Tiber in comparison.'

They pulled him from the chair. Silius wanted to tell them that he would have come willingly; they could have saved their
sestertii
on such expensive grapples if they'd simply asked him to take his place on the stairs with the other traitors. But he was glad to be guided if it gave him another moment of rest, contemplation and joy.

The warmth of the sun was his again as they dragged him down the stairs by the hook – the blue of the sky, the tumult of swallows.

The tide of barefoot women washed down from the hills like rain. Their hair unbound, their
stolae
coarse and undyed, they were Vesta's penitents, ready to sweep out her temple and package her dirt safe from thieves. From each patrician home more women trickled from the doors, adding to the stream, swelling the numbers to a torrent. Voices rose to the heavens in song. The Temple of Vesta in the Forum threw its doors wide to receive them, as the virgins within began passing out brooms, standing aside as the first of the women began to sweep. The sacred flame of the goddess crackled and waved; Vesta was welcoming.

Sosia moved through the flow of female devotion. She was part of them, yet not; a patrician, but no longer one of their class. She strode with dignity against the tide, cutting a tiny, narrow path. The way opened before her; behind, her path was swallowed by the mass.

Sosia's hair was loose, her feet were bare and her
stola
was of the roughest, greyest wool. She was no different to any other woman in the street on this sacred day except in her purpose. Vesta had been denied to Sosia, as had all the other gods. Sosia's home was no longer hers; her husband and her children had been taken from her. She was without possessions – without slaves, even. She had been forbidden to hold money, or to beg for it, or to throw herself upon the kindness of friends. She was a non-person; no longer patrician, no longer privileged and no longer Roman. She was to leave.

As she made her progress towards the Servian Wall, women recognised her. Some stopped and stared, fear marking their faces in the moment of recognition before they looked to the ground. Others clutched at her clothes or touched her arms, whispering words of compassion as they passed. One woman kissed her hair. But Sosia walked on, her eyes dry of all tears until she found the one face she searched for.

Agrippina flew at her friend, and when she reached her, clutched her tight, her lips at her ear. 'I'll save you,' she said. 'I'll find a way to save you –'

Sosia shook her head. 'Save yourself,' she said, and she broke down at last. The women around them stopped as one, aware of who the two were and why they wept and clung to each other. Those who lacked courage held back, frightened, but those for whom nobility was as much a part of them as the very air they breathed moved forward, forming a ring around the broken friends.

'Protect yourself,' Sosia repeated. 'Save your children, your sons. Take them away from Rome – make them forget the injustices done.'

'I cannot – you know I cannot,' Agrippina wept.

'This vengeance will destroy you, then,' Sosia said. 'It's what your husband warned – it'll kill you if you stay on this path. Please, Agrippina, save yourself. This reckless courage is meant for men, not for us. It's meant for men . . .'

Agrippina brushed the hair from her treasured friend's face and kissed her lips. 'I will save you,' she vowed, acknowledging nothing that Sosia had said. 'I will find you when all this is done and I will save you. Have faith in me.'

Sosia nodded, but in her heart she knew they would never meet again. 'I love you,' she whispered.

Then she turned and was gone in the tide.

The tiny cry of an infant told me the
pomerium
was close, and as I saw the row of white
cippi
stones appear, marking the limits of Rome, I saw the babies too, abandoned at birth and exposed outside the walls. I moved among the scattered tombs, hoping to find a clear view of the road without being seen myself, but a cry distracted me from my purpose. It came from the only infant still alive from the night before; there were half a dozen others cold and dead. It was a miracle this baby hadn't perished in the chill dawn air, or been taken yet by foxes or some childless wife. I peered at where the tiny thing lay among the wildflowers, naked and streaked with birth blood. I brushed the ants from its face. It was not deformed – that I could tell. Its only crime, I supposed, was being born female in a household that had hoped for a male. This was how such misfortunes were righted in Rome.

A movement at the roadside took my focus. Among the carts and bullocks and chains of slaves, a woman in undyed wool stumbled on the stones, nearly falling, before she righted herself and made to carry on. Sosia's bare feet were bleeding already, I saw. I glanced at the tiny infant helplessly and then stole forward, weaving around the tombs to place myself ahead of her. When Sosia drew near, I stepped onto the road. No one else paid attention.

'Lady,' I called, as loudly as I dared.

Sosia stopped still, thrown at seeing me. Then she made to move past. 'I am exiled, Iphicles. No one can speak to me.'

I sank to one knee before her. 'I am so sorry, Lady.' Tears were forming in my eyes. 'You don't deserve this fate – you are blameless.'

She said nothing, staring at the ground. I glanced around us to assure myself we were still being ignored. Then I reached into the sack I carried and retrieved a pair of street shoes. 'For your feet – please take them.'

She stared at them for a second, but made no move to accept. I laid the shoes on the road before her. 'Lady, here.' I showed her what else was in the sack – bread and cheese, and a small jug of wine. 'Take them, Lady.'

Sosia resumed walking, leaving the items by the road. Stricken, I scooped them into the sack again and ran after her. She stopped when I caught her.

'Let me be, Iphicles – I am of no concern to you.'

'Your children,' I stammered. 'I'll try to protect them – I'll do what I can.'

Sosia stared at me. 'What can you possibly do? You're only a slave.'

My desire to tell her that I was much more than a slave was so strong that I felt myself succumb to it. 'Trust me. I can help them. I have means.'

My words were beyond Sosia's comprehension.

'Their deaths,' I whispered, 'serve no purpose to anyone – this makes my task to protect them easier, don't you see?'

'What purpose did my husband's death serve?' Sosia demanded.

'None, Lady,' I said. 'It was a low, criminal act.'

'And my exile? That's criminal too?'

I nodded.

'And yet both still occurred. So now my children are as dead as their parents.' She went to move on.

I held her arm. 'This will change,' I assured her.

'
This
?'

'This rule – this
misrule
– of Tiberius.' I looked about me in fear of being overheard, but no passersby on the road around us gave us the slightest attention. 'There are some who labour towards ending his time – to bring on the second king,' I told her.

She stared at me again with something new behind her eyes. I had shocked her with my manner, my confidence, my certainty – none of which befitted a slave. 'Those who labour – is this
you
?' she asked.

I paused. Could I dare to trust her with the life's work that both empowered and corrupted me? 'Yes, Lady,' I whispered.

She reeled.

'The second king has been chosen, prophesied by the
haruspex
Thrasyllus with the words of the Great Mother. I do everything I can to bring this king's time forward – I labour for it tirelessly.'

'These labours – what are they?'

I missed the anger that was growing in her voice, blushing and looking to the ground. 'They are what must be done,' was all I could say.

It was the longest time before I raised my eyes, and when I did I saw her horror, her black disgust. 'Germanicus,' she whispered.

I paled.

'It was you who killed him . . . it was
you
!'

I tried to explain. 'It is not as it looks – I did not kill Germanicus.'

'Was he this prophesied king?'

'No, Lady.'

'Who is, then? Sejanus?'

'No, Lady, I swear –'

'Who else have you killed for this? Castor?'

She saw me fall paler still. 'Oh my gods – I see your guilt!' She lurched and turned where she stood, running back along the road towards the distant city walls again.

'Lady! Lady, please stop!'

'Murderer!' she gasped, stumbling on her bloodied feet. 'Murdering slave!'

'Lady, please, no –'

She turned and pointed at me. 'I will find Agrippina and I will tell her what a viper she harbours – what a poisonous viper!' She fled again along the stones.

Despair crushed me. I had sought to help her, to ease her exile, to promise her that hope was still hers, if only she had patience and strength. But she had seen my naked face and it had terrified her. This, I realised then, was the fate of all gods. We saved nothing in our efforts to achieve destiny. We only destroyed.

I reached inside the sack and found the knife I had meant to give Sosia as a weapon to defend herself with. I felt the blade – it was blunt, yet would do. Sosia stumbled and fell ahead of me, raging incoherently against my crimes. But with her undyed
stola
and wild, long hair, she was like a mad woman to those who travelled along the road. She was stubbornly, determinedly ignored.

Sosia screamed when she looked back and saw the knife glitter in my hand. 'Let me get to her,' she begged of a man driving a
carruca
. 'Take me to Agrippina – let me tell her!'

The driver struck her with his whip so that she fell back hard upon the cobbles. She clawed to her feet and began to run once more, limping badly now, and leaving little prints of blood upon the stones.

I continued to follow, keeping her pace, the knife tucked inside my
tunica
. Soon she would fall again and be unable to rise. I would pull her behind the tombs to the place where the baby wept, and there I would finish her – and perhaps the child too. It would be merciful for both of them.