Nest of Vipers Read online

  ‘Find it,’ Apicata ordered the girl.

  ‘How can I find it among so many, domina?’

  ‘Use the eyes the Fates have spared you. Find it!’

  The young maid sobbed, snatching at the scores of curse tablets nailed to the base of the statue and trying to determine what they might say from single letters alone. It was hopeless, doomed.

  ‘Find it!’ Apicata flung a fistful of the vermin’s filth at her. ‘Find it for me!’

  Calliope fled, rushing from the hall and down the slimy, broken steps, not letting herself stop until she felt the kiss of sunshine on her face again and breathed air that smelled crisp and clean and not foul like the breath of the damned.

  Apicata screamed after her with threats of violence, but when her voice cracked hoarse, echoing in the emptiness, she turned to begging for the girl to return to her, begging for her help to find the truth. But Calliope was gone and Apicata was left to fumble, all alone in the slurries of dung, praying loudly to Veiovis to lead her to the tablet that would let her know the truth.

  The god observed her with dispassion until her desperation stirred something in his heart. He was not an evil god, just mischievous. To foster lies and hidden truths was surely not as vile as the gods who fostered agony and death. But then perhaps he was no different? Perhaps he was so much worse?

  Apicata turned sharply at the crack of masonry from above. A finger from the god’s right hand detached itself and fell. Covering her head, Apicata screamed in terror, not knowing what it was, but nothing struck her. The finger landed without injury upon the floor. And perhaps, if Calliope had stayed loyal to her mistress, she could have seen this and informed Apicata where it pointed.

  A rat brushed the stone digit as it scurried to its nest, flipping a fallen curse tablet. Scratched words now faced the god again and anyone who had the eyes to read them:

  I curse Apicata, that she will never know what I have taken from her until it is too late.

  Sejanus left the dank, stinking Tullianum with the screams of those awaiting trial in his ears. He gave the appearance of being deaf to them as Macro followed behind him. The wardens slammed the heavy iron door in their wake, cutting off the prisoners’ sounds, and in the brief silence of this respite Macro smirked, pleased with the afternoon’s work.

  ‘You find pleasure in what we do, Macro?’

  The Tribune just raised his eyebrows, smiling. But the look Sejanus gave him was cold. ‘What pleasure is there in finding evil inside Rome? Evil in women? Evil in little children? How can you enjoy it when you know how greatly the Emperor is betrayed?’

  Macro recomposed himself. ‘My pleasure comes from knowing that the Emperor is avenged by what we uncover, Prefect.’

  ‘We’re soiled by this work, but it’s the means to an end.’

  The two men wrapped their cloaks tightly around their bodies as the bitter winter wind blew hard from the north along the flagstones.

  ‘Will we ever find the last of traitors, Prefect?’ Macro asked. ‘Will we reach an end of this?’

  Sejanus considered. ‘I believe that we will. I believe it’s inevitable. Then Rome will be clean.’

  Macro nodded, but when he glanced into his superior’s eyes he saw they had the faraway look that, he believed, they had more often than befitted a prefect. Sejanus looked like an acolyte lost in the worship of an idol. For his part Macro didn’t believe in any gods. To him they were clay-footed, just like men. All Macro had faith in was wealth. Serving as a Praetorian was the most lucrative job a man could attain for himself in Rome if he was unencumbered, as Macro was, by birth, tradition and class.

  The Forum was nearly empty. The courts were closed and the Senate had finished its business for the day. Only beggars huddled in the alcoves that offered protection from the wind. The guards brought horses, preparing an escort back to the Viminal Gate, as Sejanus glanced behind him up the long Gemonian Stairs. In contrast they were choked with people: men, women and children lying blank-faced and idle on the rough stone steps, underdressed for the weather, as though it were a summer’s day. Some were even naked. They sat demurely, many of them, their arms upon their knees or across their chests. Others sprawled in obscene poses, their breasts and genitals lolling in front of them. Every one of them was dead. It was too cold even for the dogs to feast on them. Sejanus felt soiled by this work.

  Macro caught his attention, nodding towards a woman in a long grey palla, her feet incongruously shod in bath slippers. ‘Prefect …’

  Sejanus looked. It was his wife. She could see him, yet could not see him; she knew where he was and knew that he could see her fully. She said nothing, wanting only to be seen.

  ‘Has she been told yet?’ Macro asked.

  Apicata had borne two children for Sejanus, a daughter and a son; she had kept his house and shared his dreams. She had shown him nothing but loyalty, yet still it wasn’t love Sejanus felt for her – and this made what needed to be done all the easier.

  ‘It was my order that she be told,’ said Sejanus. His horse was ready for him.

  ‘Upon her return from the baths?’

  ‘That was my order.’

  Man and wife stood still as the statues of the gods that loomed high above them.

  ‘Perhaps she hasn’t returned to your home then, Prefect? Perhaps she is still to hear it?’

  Sejanus looked at his wife for the last time. ‘She has heard.’

  He mounted his horse and joined the Praetorian escort to the Viminal Gate.

  Apicata waited until the sound of the retreating hooves was lost in the icy wind. Then she waited until the night birds started their cries and she knew that the thin sun had set, ending the day. She had no plan, no idea of what to do or where to go, so she continued waiting. At least there was a certainty of action in this, if not any goal.

  Apicata waited exactly where she knew Sejanus had taken his final look at her, burning her image into his mind. She remained where he had seen her and she did not move. She continued to wait as Rome’s most desperate and destitute crept around her in the darkness, as fragile as winter leaves in the wind. She waited as she heard the transactions they made with the low and brutal men who purchased them and used them and then discarded them again. She waited as a man asked her if she was for sale. She said nothing in reply, continuing to stand, continuing to wait. When he felt her breasts, she allowed him to – what did it matter now? But when he offered her money, she didn’t raise her hands, keeping them balled up tight inside her palla until he finally moved on.

  She waited as the rain began to fall lightly around her, turning heavier after a time, before ending in hailstones that struck and bruised her face. She waited as the snow followed later, gathering in small drifts at her feet. She waited as the sentries announced watch after watch: Prima fax, Concubia, Intempesta, Inclinatio. She waited as she slipped to the ground, the snow cushioning her fall, her limbs weighing heavier than stone. Finally, she waited as a kind woman cradled her head in her lap, singing to her softly, until Apicata could find the strength to speak.

  ‘I am destroyed,’ Apicata whispered.

  ‘It happens to all of us in time.’

  ‘I never felt it come. I never even sensed its approach.’

  The woman clicked her tongue. ‘There was something of that in my own fall, too,’ she said. ‘Such is Rome.’

  Apicata felt comforted and reached for the woman’s hands, seeking her touch, her warmth, her humanity. But the hands that found her, that brushed against her palms and fingers were not hands at all, but stumps. The hands were gone.

  Apicata had no emotion left when she recognised the woman’s voice and realised to whom it belonged. She felt only release. She had completed a cycle. Apicata had once blackmailed this woman into committing murder, and now her own life was ready to be taken in turn. It was justice.

  ‘Finish me,’ Apicata whispered. ‘Take your revenge – finish me.’

  ‘Don’t be foolish,’ Plancina answered
with a laugh. ‘I want to hear what happened first.’

  Carmentalia

  January, AD 26

  One week later: Gaius Poppaeus Sabinus

  thwarts an attack upon his strongholds

  by the rebellious Thracians but suffers

  the destruction of a legion of Thracian

  auxiliaries loyal to Rome

  Then a torn, soiled and barely readable curl of papyrus was handed to me by a young maid, my first impulse was to dismiss it. But the girl Calliope pointed out the remnants of the wax seal on the back of the message, saying that it warranted some kind of attention. I stared at what she showed me then and waved at Lygdus to open one of my domina’s chests. I told the girl to pick out whatever she liked. She chose a jewelled brooch, although she seemed to find little joy in it. She could have taken the lot, for all I cared – for I had realised the letter’s worth. I had recognised the handwriting.

  I asked Calliope to tell me how she found this letter. She said there was little to tell. Her master Sejanus had received it many months ago, and whatever was written upon it had angered him because he screwed it up and threw it away in the garden. The girl’s mistress, Apicata, had searched for the letter without success but had then been exiled from the house. Calliope had later found the letter hidden in the leaves of some ivy. She had now decided to show it to another’s eyes – my own. She did not know what was written on it. I thanked her for bringing it to me ahead of any other person in Rome, and I asked her why she had done this.

  ‘I admire you,’ she whispered. ‘You give hope to other slaves.’

  I looked at Lygdus and I imagined that he shared this sentiment – it seemed to me that his eyes were shining. I was moved for only a moment before I felt unease. ‘But how do you even know of me?’

  Calliope cast a look at Lygdus, who just looked to the ground. ‘I know,’ was all she would say.

  When the maid was gone, Lygdus swore that my fears were baseless; no one knew of me, and my actions were hidden from Rome. I wanted to believe him but I saw my domina watching us from her bed. She had seen the slave and heard what was discussed. The look she gave me had nothing but confirmation to it. She wanted me to know that my fears were very real, that my actions were only hidden from a part of Rome – the Rome that ruled. The Rome that served knew me very well.

  I read the letter aloud to Lygdus – and to my domina. It was from Tiberius, of course.

  My son,

  Your request has moved me deeply but I must ask for your patience while I devote myself to a period of impartial consideration of it. Other men’s plans depend so much upon their ideas of their own interest, but Emperors, who must regulate their actions by public opinion, are in a different position. For this reason, my beloved son, I cannot yet give the answer to your request that my heart wants so freely to give – the answer being that Livilla herself will decide whether she ought to marry again.

  Lygdus’s eyes opened in amazement. ‘Sejanus asked for my domina Livilla’s hand?’

  I was cautious, rereading the words.

  ‘They’re both so reckless,’ Lygdus said. ‘And yet even Tiberius can’t see what’s going on!’

  ‘He can see something,’ I said, concerned.

  ‘He can’t see anything – he’s given the answer. He says Livilla is free to choose Sejanus if she wishes it.’

  I looked to my domina. Her eyes had a malicious gleam again. She knew the truth, of course, and so did I, being far more familiar with Tiberius’s double-speak than the eunuch was. ‘He’s given nothing at all – just the hope of an answer. He’s delaying Sejanus.’

  ‘But why?’

  Livia kept her nightblack eyes upon mine. ‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘But something Sejanus has done or said has struck Tiberius differently. Something is wrong …’

  Lygdus looked uneasy now. ‘What if Sejanus falls?’

  ‘He’ll never fall – Tiberius loves him.’

  ‘But what if he does? What if something happens?’

  ‘Nothing will happen. They are too closely bonded.’

  ‘But what if he does?’

  I lost patience with him. ‘Get on with your work. Go and spy on Nero.’

  Lygdus immediately shut down. ‘Nero doesn’t need spying on today,’ he said.

  ‘He needs spying on every day – do you think the domina ever took a day off when she was making plans like ours? Give me something new I can write down and place in the file I’m keeping on him.’

  ‘Nero is blameless today,’ Lygdus insisted. I stared at him for a moment and a blush came to his cheeks. But he kept his fat arms crossed on his chest and his lips pursed in determination.

  ‘Lygdus, are you keeping something from me?’

  ‘Of course not.’

  ‘It’s been quite a few months since you’ve given me anything useful about Nero – what has he been up to?’

  ‘Matters of government,’ Lygdus said. ‘The law courts – that sort of thing. He’s been very boring.’

  ‘His private life is not very boring.’

  ‘It is now. He’s gone right off that vile victimarius.’

  Something wasn’t ringing true, but I had never known the devoted eunuch to lie to me. ‘Lygdus,’ I said, keeping my voice low with inherent warning, ‘you will go and attend Nero right now.’

  ‘No, I won’t.’

  I slapped his face with such a blow that the sound of it rang in the air. Then a high-pitched laugh made the two of us spin around in shock. Livia’s nightblack eyes blazed like a furnace.

  ‘The domina!’ Lygdus clutched his face in shock. ‘She laughed!’

  I stared at Livia, incredulous. ‘No, it was someone else – there is someone else in here.’ I began to open doors and pull aside tapestries. ‘Who’s in here?’ I shouted into the empty rooms. ‘Who dares to spy on us?’

  By the time I accepted the fact that no one else was in the domina’s suite at all, Lygdus had slipped away. Putting his worrying behaviour aside for the time being, I returned to my domina’s bed to find that her tongue was now poking from between her closed lips. It was as though she were mocking me.

  ‘You are not regaining your voice, so don’t try to pretend that you are,’ I scolded her, trying really to convince myself. ‘I’ve stopped your visits to Asclepius, and that disgusting snake you harboured is dead. If you were getting well again, domina, you aren’t any more.’ I prised open her jaw and jabbed her tongue back inside her mouth.

  I picked up Tiberius’s letter again. There was more to it than I had read out aloud – another paragraph. I knew in my gut that Sejanus had made a false step somehow – that he’d done something that made Tiberius’s reply to him a carefully veiled warning.

  Your simplicity of thought and abhorrence of ambition is my greatest treasure, my son, but it leaves you – and leaves your Emperor – open to insinuation from others who are not so pure. You are mistaken, I fear, if you hope that Livilla will have the strength of mind and heart to pass her future years with a Roman knight. How could it be tolerated by those who have seen her brother, her father and her most noble ancestors take the highest patrician offices of state? Already venal and jealous men claim openly that you forget your rank and act beyond it – claims I deny and deplore – and from their dislike of you they also condemn me. I can endure it – but you, my loyal son in all but my blood, should not be expected to. Your Emperor does not expect you to.

  I tried to read what was unwritten. These were merely more delaying words; the heart of Tiberius’s exception to Sejanus’s request was not clear. I read the final passage.

  While I pass my time in impartial consideration, may I make a new request of you, my son? It is not an onerous call, but is only this: when feminine jealousies occur within my house, I fear for my grandsons’ gentle hearts. I ask you to protect them. Nero and Drusus are now grown men, but their hearts are soft, like the hearts of boys, as they still have so much to l
earn. Little Boots and Gemellus are very much boys still. Feminine jealousies risk all; sons will always honour their mothers. It is my deepest wish that no grandson of mine should ever rival the other, so that when the time comes for me to name one as my heir, I will do so in the knowledge that the others will celebrate him, not defy him.

  My pulse began to race as I finally saw the glimmers of Tiberius’s secret heart opening before me.

  Nothing is too great to be undeserved by your tireless goodwill towards me, my son. My period of impartial consideration of your request will end so much the sooner when Agrippina embraces me again as a father. When I look into her eyes and see my affection for her returned, happiness will be shared by all. Unity, not enmity, will then be ours, my son. It truly will.

  I placed the soiled papyrus on a table, feeling lightheaded. I needed to sit. When I had gathered my thoughts, I knew without question what Sejanus had done – and I knew what it was that Tiberius most secretly desired. Sejanus, the former physician’s apprentice of redoubtable loyalty but doubtful origins, had overstepped himself in his obsession with destroying Agrippina. The Emperor was in love with her.

  The only way forward for Sejanus was to smash that love into tiny pieces. His claims of plots and factions and prominent ringleaders scheming in secret for Agrippina’s cause had failed to dent the love in Tiberius’s heart. Others might be guilty, but Tiberius believed Agrippina to be wholly innocent. And yet it was unlikely, I knew, that Sejanus had not already conceived of another way to deprive Agrippina of her most devoted protector. As I pondered on what this might be, my domina’s tongue slipped from her lips once more, lolling at me. It was naked mockery, but this time I left her tongue hanging, allowing her to look undignified and comical.

  ‘Laugh at me all you like, domina,’ I said, smirking into her onyx eyes, ‘but I am going to help Sejanus, not hinder him – and there’s nothing you can do to stop me.’

  The Kalends of February

  AD 26

  Three weeks later: following the suicide of