Domina

Chapter 5

‘So, she wishes to go to Capri?’

Sejanus lounged on a couch, one arm on the headrest, a wax writing tablet on his knee. A small tripod next to the couch held quills, ink and pumice stone. He put the tablet down and glanced at me, fingers laced. Sejanus was at his most avuncular: patrician, his grey hair carefully combed, smiling eyes, slightly hooked nose, his face freshly shaved and oiled.

‘I’ve heard what happened.’ He smiled. ‘Do you believe it?’

I recalled Agrippina’s advice.

‘No, I don’t, Excellency.’

Sejanus furrowed his brow. ‘I am glad you said that. Neither do I. Metellus was a cold fish, who prefered little boys to women so why should he try and rape Agrippina?’ He clicked his tongue.

I was standing about three yards from him. I hoped he couldn’t smell my fear.

‘But Agrippina acted foolishly. Surely she would have known about Metellus’s preferences? Let me think this through.’ Sejanus reflected. ‘Agrippina sent you to bring Metellus to her room, and then locked the door. Almost immediately she started to scream a yell and when the Praetorians broke in, Metellus, one of my spies, was found with a dagger thrust through the heart. Now Agrippina is acting the hysterical bitch and pleading to be sent to Capri to complain to the Emperor.’ He sighed. ‘To be perfectly honest I suspect the Divine One won’t believe her either.’

He lowered his head and clicked his tongue. I stared round the marble room. Purple and gold drapes hung against the walls and two crumbling gravestones, a memento mori, perched at either end of the couch. Was it Sejanus’s idea to terrify visitors or had this been the great Augustus’s writing chamber? The furniture was exquisite, much of it of Egyptian design, as were the statuettes — an Apis bull, a Hermes, a dancing girl — and a silver lamp-stand carved in the shape of a tree. Agrippina later explained that it was all looted from Cleopatra’s court. At the time I didn’t really care, only aware of the warmth and the brooding silence. The drapes moved slightly, and I glanced down and caught sight of the toe of a boot peeping out beneath. Sejanus was no fool: he appeared to be frightened of no one but the chamber was full of guards, their swords drawn, ready to protect him or to carry out his slightest whim. He continued to click his tongue, an unnerving sound: sometimes fast, sometimes slow it seemed to echo the beat of my heart. I stared down at the floor and studied the mosaic which was of Demeter rising from the corn fields.

‘I am wondering,’ Sejanus smiled, ‘dearest kinsman, if you are part of this plot?’

He picked up a bell and rang it vigorously. A door in the wall opened and the Minion stepped through. Sejanus didn’t even bother to turn his head.

‘Who’s in the chamber below?’ he demanded.

‘Tibullus.’

‘Ah yes, our self-styled poet who thinks he is a new Virgil. Any progress?’

The Minion shook his sweat-soaked face.

‘Take my kinsman Parmenon down.’

The Minion snapped his fingers, and I followed him out. The chamber beyond was pitch black except for a torch flickering at the bottom of the steep, sharp steps. The Minion grabbed me by the arm and bustled me down.

‘Don’t be frightened!’ he sniggered.

I wished I’d fled. Agrippina’s plot was doomed to failure. Sejanus had realised what she was up to. She wouldn’t be travelling to Capri and I was about to end my days in a place like this. We reached the bottom of the steps and went along a poorly lit corridor which debouched into a circular chamber, where I saw men dressed like gladiators and satyrs, the masks over their faces made all the more grotesque by the leaping torchlight. The smell was as fetid as that from an open latrine. The grotesques moved away to reveal the outstretched body of a man on the table.

‘He’s not a prisoner,’ the Minion sniggered, pointing at me. ‘At least not yet. Just show him.’

One of the grotesques pushed me forward. Tibullus, or what was left of him, lay outstretched on a table. He was completely naked. He had lost consciousness but the vinegar-soaked gag in his mouth would have blocked his screams. Blood soaked both him and the table, oozing from small puncture holes in his body. I froze in horror. The table top beneath was covered in a forest of small spikes. Tibullis was literally being tortured to death by a thousand cuts. Each time his body was moved and turned, the nails either dug afresh or cut deeper into the open wounds.

‘He wrote a poem, Tibullis did,’ the Minion explained. ‘What we are trying to discover is who paid him?’

‘I didn’t!’ I snapped, trying to hide my fear.

‘No, of course you didn’t. But you get the message?’

‘Very clearly.’

‘Good, good.’ The Minion put a scented pomander to his nose. ‘Do remember what you’ve seen.’

I stared at the torturers, at their sweat-soaked, balding pates, eyes glittering behind the masks. They were full of a malicious enjoyment at the sight of another human being torn to pieces. I followed the Minion up the steps back into Sejanus’s chamber.

‘Is Tibullus still alive?’

‘Yes, Excellency.’

‘Well, he won’t be by tomorrow morning. Right, Parmenon, were you party to this nonsense with Domina Agrippina?’

‘To some extent,’ I replied.

Sejanus glanced expectantly at me. ‘You need to do better than that, kinsman!’

‘Domina Agrippina was hysterical,’ I lied. ‘She recognised who I really was as soon as she met me at the Games. “I am your secretarius,” I announced. “No,” she hissed. “You are a spy!” She returned to the palace, where she started to make extravagant promises about what she could do for me.’

‘And?’

‘Excellency, I pretended to listen to her, until she told me to get out. Metellus went in to see her.’ I shrugged. ‘The rest you know.’

‘And would you send her to Capri?’ Sejanus asked.

I stared across at the secret door, which the Minion had closed. I took a step forward and one of the drapes moved.

‘No, Excellency, I wouldn’t risk it. Only the Gods know what kind of mischief she could get up to.’

Again the clicking tongue. I was in a cold sweat: the next few seconds would decide my life.

‘So, what do you advise, kinsman?’

‘According to public report,’ I blurted out, ‘a woman of the imperial family was attacked, the daughter of Germanicus. I saw the outrage on the soldiers’ faces: Agrippina’s story will be believed.’

Sejanus, cupping his chin in his hand, nodded.

‘If you do send her to Capri,’ I continued, ‘it could be dangerous. But if you refuse, you can be sure that some spy will carry the story to Capri and the Emperor might think someone is trying to hide something.’

‘Very good! Very good!’ Sejanus smiled. ‘Kinsman, pour yourself a goblet of wine.’

He pointed to the small dresser which stood between two pillars. I obeyed.

‘No, not for me!’ He barked as I started to fill a second cup. ‘You may be my kinsman, but it doesn’t mean I trust you.’ He held up his finger, displaying a large amethyst ring. ‘I carry poison in this ring, and you could do the same. Come on, sit in the chair. You look sly enough, Parmenon, but have you the brain to match? Tell me what you would advise, kinsman?’

I sat on the stool a few paces from him.

‘If you send an ordinary messenger,’ I replied, ‘the Emperor may still misunderstand.’

‘What do you know of the Emperor?’

‘Very little, your Excellency. I am merely a speck of dust under his sandal.’

‘Yes, yes, you are and I am that sandal.’

‘Then, Excellency, I would advise that you send the only witness to the incident, namely myself.’

Sejanus clapped his hands. ‘Very good, Parmenon. You will leave by trireme first thing tomorrow morning. You’ll go dressed in a tunic and sandals, with a cloak and nothing else.’ He paused. ‘Agrippina will try and give you a letter. What do you do then?’

‘I’ll be reluctant to accept it so she’ll bribe me. I will take it and hand it over to one of your men.’

Sejanus’s face crumpled into a smile.

‘Good and when you get to Capri?’

‘I will tell the Emperor, the Divine One, exactly what I told you: that Agrippina is becoming hysterical and Metellus was innocent of any crime.’

‘And the rest is up to your sharp wit. However,’ Sejanus picked up the wax tablet and pointed to where the secret door was, ‘my servant will accompany you. Give him Agrippina’s letter and he will study it carefully. He will also be my witness at your meeting with the Emperor so he’ll be able to report everything that you say. Be warned, when you go into the Emperor’s presence, make no reference to any religious belief or astrology. You must kneel and not raise your eyes. Above all, do not hold the Emperor’s gaze. He believes it’s one way demons can enter his soul. If possible, study the Divine One closely. When you return to Rome, I want to know everything you’ve seen and heard. Oh, by the way, Parmenon.’ He pointed to the goblet I was cradling. ‘That’s the very best Falernian, so drink it up.’

I did so quickly.

‘You are safe for now,’ Sejanus murmured. ‘However, my servant has his orders and if he suspects you of the slightest treachery towards me, you’ll never see Rome again. You may go!’

I was at the door when he called my name. I turned, to see that Sejanus was now sitting up on the edge of the couch. His face had lost that gentle conspiratorial look.

‘You did very well, Parmenon. Much better than I expected. You should celebrate with more wine tonight. You are a very lucky man.’

A guard took me back to Agrippina’s quarters. Darkness had now fallen and the gardens were lit by torches and lanterns. Praetorian guards patrolled in full view whilst others were hiding beneath cypress trees, in porticoes or recesses in the walls. My guide, a Praetorian officer, was dressed in half-armour and stank of sweaty leather. As we went through a side door leading to Agrippina’s quarters, the man hauled me into the shadows. I heard the scrape of metal and felt a sword tip press into my throat just beneath the chin.

‘What’s this?’ I murmured. ‘I have done no. .’

The man pushed me up against the wall.

‘Can you be trusted?’ he asked.

Gods, I was on the verge of hysteria! ‘Trust?’ I yelped. ‘In this viper’s nest? Trust whom?’

‘Leave him be,’ a woman’s voice urged.

The man stepped back.

‘You have a few minutes,’ he whispered and left, closing the door softly behind him.

Agrippina stepped out of the darkness. She was swathed from chin to toe in a dark-blue military cloak smelling of horse piss and stables.

‘Quickly, tell me all!’ she urged.

‘I could have been killed!’ I hissed. ‘You knew Sejanus wouldn’t believe your story.’

‘Of course I did,’ came the calm reply.

‘You could have told me what to say.’

‘Now, now, Parmenon.’ Agrippina’s pale face peered at me. She stood on tiptoe and kissed me on the lips. ‘You are like a gladiator returning from the arena and complaining that you have won. If you had been killed what use would you be to me? I told you to tell the truth. You did so and survived.’

‘Why did you kill Metellus?’ I demanded.

‘That’s one thing Sejanus doesn’t know. I suspected Metellus had heard me complaining of Sejanus so he had to die. It was also a way of bringing both myself and you to Sejanus’s attention. That’s the way of things, Parmenon. When you deal with the blood imperial, you either survive or go into the dark. Metellus had to die. I had to catch Sejanus’s eye. He’s not going to let me go to Capri, is he? He’s going to send you?’

‘How did you. .?’

She laughed softly. ‘It’s the only logical thing he could do.’

‘What about that guard?’ I pointed to the door.

Agrippina put her arms round my neck. ‘He loves me, Parmenon. He fought with my father in Germany. He’s held Germanicus’s daughter in his arms, fondled my breasts, run his hand in the secret part between my legs. He’ll die for me if necessary.’

‘But you are married?’

‘Oh, Parmenon, you are such a fool.’ She pressed her body against mine. ‘And yet you are doing so well. We are here to survive, Parmenon. I’ll fight with every weapon I have.’ She let her arms fall away and stepped back. ‘Can’t you see that? Now you are off to Capri, where you are to tell the Emperor the truth: that I murdered Metellus because I was hysterical.’ She clicked her tongue. ‘Did Sejanus do that?’

‘Yes, he did.’

Agrippina laughed. ‘So, what’s the next step, Parmenon?’

‘I am to leave tomorrow. Any letter you give me must be handed over to the Minion.’

‘Sejanus really thinks I’m a hysterical, stupid woman!’ The words were spat out, each one full of hate and malice. ‘One of these days,’ she added, ‘I’ll make him face the truth.’

‘Why did we have to meet like this?’ I asked. ‘In the dark?’

‘Because they’ll be watching you, Parmenon. If you came straight back to report to me, they’d suspect your allegiance. So, come and see me tomorrow morning before you leave. I’ll give you the letter to the Emperor and something else.’

She brushed by me and was gone. The door opened and the Praetorian officer stepped through. He took me by the elbow and pushed me up the steps, along to the servants’ quarters, a refectory with trestle tables and stools. The Praetorian introduced me and turned to where a greasy-handed cook stood at the end of the kitchen.

‘He’s got loose bowels,’ he sneered. ‘Either that or he’s so frightened he almost crapped himself. Give him something light to eat.’

He joined in the general laughter and left, satisfied that he could explain the slight delay in bringing me from Sejanus’s chamber to this refectory, where possibly every man, woman and child was in Sejanus’s pay. I ate some highly spiced stew and rye bread. I remember the meal well: I found it so difficult to eat, my hands kept shaking from fear and elation. I felt as if I had been put through a fire but come through unscathed.

A sleepless, restless night followed. In my dreams the ghouls clustered in. I was walking through Rome but every street and lane flowed with blood. Sightless eyes in severed heads perched on pikes gazed beseechingly at me, their lips still moving, spurting out blood as well as guttural sounds. I woke in a sweat, took some wine and returned to a more peaceful sleep. I once discussed such nightmares with Domina. She winked and nipped my cheek.

‘It proves you have a conscience, Parmenon,’ she mocked.

‘Don’t you dream, Domina?’

‘I sleep like a baby,’ she replied.

The next morning she certainly looked unruffled and unperturbed, when a servant took me up to her quarters. The room where Metellus had died was now cleaned and cleared. Servant girls thronged about, so I had to be prudent: most of them, if not all, were in Sejanus’s pay. Agrippina played her part to perfection. She led me over to a window recess and took a small scroll from beneath the shawl round her shoulders. She glanced down into the courtyard.

‘Your escort is waiting. Give this to my brother Gaius and no other. Tell him his sister loves him.’ She moved so her back was to the rest of the room. ‘Tell him,’ she continued slowly, ‘to play the man and act the part. Remind him of the herbarium I sent him. He is to study it closely for the source of his deliverance is in Capri.’

She turned as if to walk away but came back.

‘Oh, and tell the Emperor that Sejanus wants to become Drusus: that’s why Drusus has gone away.’

I stared perplexed. Drusus, her brother, was in a dark hole beneath the Palatine. She blew me a kiss and walked over to one of the servant girls, shouting for water and napkins and the clearest mirror they could find. I went down to the yard. The Minion was waiting, with a small cohort of troops and one of those huge four-wheeled carts to carry our baggage and other supplies for the Emperor in Capri.

‘You are ready, kinsman?’ the Minion mocked.

He looked me over from head to toe. I was dressed in a dark-green tunic and a rather threadbare cloak I had bought in the market place. He threw me a clinking purse.

‘When you return to Rome you really must visit my tailor.’

I caught the clinking bag, and saw that his hand was still outstretched. I gave him Agrippina’s letter, he broke the seal and studied it carefully.

‘Nothing treasonable,’ he sighed. ‘More’s the pity. Here!’ He tossed it to a servant. ‘Take that to His Excellency!’ He gestured at me. ‘Come on! Ostia awaits!’

I was given a sorry nag to ride. We left the Palatine by side gates and made our way through the narrow, stinking streets towards the gate to Ostia. It was late March. The sun was beginning to strengthen but really the seasons made little difference in Rome. It was always busy with merchants’ carts, pedlars’ barrows, the cookshops and wine stalls, the jostle and bustle of an empire. Soldiers forced their way through the crowds. Sailors and marines, up from the docks, searched out the ladies of the town. Fruit and vegetable-sellers shouted and sold their produce whilst trying to evade the market police. Astrologists, soothsayers, magicians and conjuring men clustered about. I heard at least thirty different tongues being spoken. I wondered if it was the last time I’d see this city. Some wit cracked a joke about the nag I was riding but I ignored him. We were soon through the city gates, onto the broad road to Ostia.

A trireme was waiting at a well-guarded quayside, Tiberius’s personal craft. It was a grim-looking vessel, it flew the imperial colours, but its sails were black and white, and the marines and officers on board were all dressed in dark leather corselets or tunics. It was the quietest ship I have ever sailed on and provided an insight into Tiberius’s suspicious mind. No one trusted anyone and the best way to keep your head was to have a quiet tongue. We were welcomed gruffly aboard, and our baggage was stowed away. Orders rattled out and we were soon leaving the quayside, as the trireme’s prow, curved in the shape of an eagle, sliced through the water. The fishing smacks and pedlars’ boats kept well away from our vessel, recognising the colours: the red and gold prow, the silver gilt along the rail and the dark sails.

The sea was calm, the winds favourable, the journey short; I was pleased to see the Minion was as seasick as I. At last Capri came into sight. Tiberius had chosen the island well. It was only a short distance from Rome, but well protected by its soaring cliffs which allowed only one natural harbour. Even as the trireme skimmed towards this, I glimpsed the armed men on the cliff tops. The Minion whispered to me that the Emperor had constant lookouts posted there with beacons at the ready, vigilant for the hint of any danger, any threat to the Emperor. Tiberius truly hated Rome. He viewed it as a place full of devils and went there as little as possible. He had even failed to return for his own mother’s funeral: her corpse had begun to decompose before Tiberius allowed the funeral rites to take place. Sometimes he travelled to outskirts of Rome, issuing orders, receiving envoys and quickly departing.

Tiberius also hated religion. He had no time for the Roman Gods or any others and neglected the temple ceremonies. He was, however, deeply interested in the science of the Chaldeans: the soothsayers, diviners and oracle-tellers who might predict the future. The most famous, Thrasyllus, had once promised that Tiberius would be Emperor. Consequently, Tiberius took such men and women seriously. But woe betide any whom Tiberius considered charlatans. They were invited to Capri and, once they had completed their business, were taken down the steps along the cliff edge. If Tiberius was unhappy with his soothsaying guest, a burly guard had secret orders to tip him onto the rocks below. A sinister, ominous place!

The trireme soon docked, and ran down its gang-plank. I had been in many harbours and ports throughout the Roman world, but found Capri was the quietest. Everything was closely regulated, and there were none of the usual swaggering sailors or tempting courtesans. We were welcomed by the commander of the Emperor’s bodyguard, a stocky, thickset man, dressed in full armour. At first I thought he was the usual dim-witted bully boy until he clasped my hand, and I saw that the eyes beneath his heavy brows were bright and cynical. He looked me over from head to toe.

‘Another of Sejanus’s creatures,’ he murmured. ‘I am Macro.’ and withdrew his hand. He nodded at the Minion and ordered us to follow him.

Capri had been taken over completely by the Emperor. Macro explained, as we followed the path up to the cliff top, that there were twelve villas in all for the Emperor, his guests and household. Gardens and temples had also been laid out and built. We were given apartments in a villa not far from the harbour. Macro informed us we had an hour to make ourselves ready before the Emperor would see us.

‘So soon?’ I asked once Macro had left.

‘Tiberius doesn’t like visitors,’ the Minion replied. ‘Though he’ll be eager for news from Rome.’

‘I thought. .’

‘What?’ the Minion demanded.

‘Macro already seemed to know that I would be I coming here?’

The Minion gave a shrug. ‘You have your orders. Make sure you follow them.’

We washed and changed, then ate some white bread and grapes. Macro returned and we were led across the island to a white, marble-colonnaded villa perched high on the edge of the cliffs. It was cooled by breezes which also wafted in the perfume of exotic plants from the garden.

Tiberius met us alone in a small atrium which overlooked the garden. I glimpsed a sparkling fountain and the curtain wall, beyond which was the death-dealing fall. Tiberius sat between two pillars leading out to the garden. He didn’t recline on a couch but on a soldier’s camp chair. He was dressed in a purple and gold-fringed toga, with a simple bronze chain around his neck. He kept playing with the silver tassels on the cushions beneath him. Despite Sejanus’s warnings, I glanced up at him quickly. Tiberius looked hideous: although balding at the front, his dark hair clustered thickly round the nape of his neck, his nose was twisted slightly to the left, the jutting upper lip was made worse by the rotting teeth, and a weak chin gave his face a bitter, sneering look. His glowering dark eyes blazed in contrast to his skin which was a dirty-white like that of a whore who’d painted her face, emphasized by the fetid ulcers which covered his body. Years earlier Tiberius had tried to burn these off by cauterising them with a fiery iron. Such a clumsy cure had only made matters worse. Tiberius reminded me of a leper.

We had to wait until Macro finished his whispering. Tiberius pushed him away and beckoned us forward with his fingers. We knelt on cushions before him, heads down.

‘You come from Rome?’

‘Yes, your Imperial Highness,’ the Minion replied. ‘And we bring felicitations. .’

‘Enough of that!’ Tiberius barked like a centurion on a parade ground. ‘I’m not interested in Rome or what it thinks of me. But I understand my good friend Sejanus has undergone some sort of crisis?’

The Minion stiffened. I hid my smile of satisfaction. I was correct: Macro had known why we were here. Was this a good augury? I closed my eyes and thought of Agrippina’s face. I prayed to whatever gods there were that I would survive this ordeal.

‘Well, come on!’ Tiberius urged.

The Minion spoke quickly, describing Metellus’s death. I looked away, trying to distract myself. In the garden beyond grew asparagus and cucumbers, Tiberius’s favourite vegetables. They were kept in boxes on wheels so they could be taken in and out of the sun according to the weather. Sometimes he would go for days, eating only these or radishes from Germany. I half listened to the Minion’s lies, until a shadow passed in front of the column. Tiberius told the Minion to be quiet. Forgetting myself, I looked up. The new arrival was tall and stoop-backed, with long-fingered hands which dangled like the claws of an animal, their nails curved and dirty. The new-comer’s face was sallow and pitted and, like Tiberius, he was bald at the front with a thick crust of hair on the nape of his neck. He came and stood by Tiberius like a faithful dog.

‘My good nephew, Gaius!’ Tiberius murmured.

By then I had lowered my eyes. ‘Little Boots’ certainly didn’t resemble Agrippina with his dull face, muddy-coloured complexion and eyes like those of an opiate-drinker. Slobbery-lipped and loose-jawed, Caligula looked like an imbecile.

‘Continue,’ Tiberius murmured.

The Minion did so in a few halting sentences. Tiberius tapped his silver-gilded sandal, an ominous sound like that of a drumbeat accompanying a victim to execution.

‘And you are Parmenon?’

Again the Minion stiffened. Tiberius’s tone seemed to be more friendly.

‘Yes, your Imperial Highness.’

‘And you can vouch for all this?’

‘I know the truth, Excellency.’

‘The truth?’ A short, barking laugh. ‘If you know the truth, Parmenon, you are, truly, a very fortunate man. You are both dismissed!’

We got up from the cushions, bowed and backed out of the chamber. The Minion was very restless. Red spots appeared high on his cheeks and his agitation only deepened as Macro told him to wait whilst beckoning me to follow him. I crossed the small atrium. Macro pushed me into a doorway, told me to stay there and walked off. The door opened and a hand dragged me inside. Gaius Caligula grinned at me. Believe me, they were a family of fine actors! Gaius’s face had changed, it was no longer slack and vacuous, his eyes were a strange light-blue, and his mouth and jaw more composed. He grasped me by the shoulder, and I smelt his wine-drenched breath.

‘Well? Does she love me?’

‘Agrippina. .?’

‘Not her! Drusilla!’ Gaius snapped, referring to the younger sister.

‘Of course, your Excellency!’

Gaius wetted his lips. ‘And what do you think of the old cadaver?’ His eyes widened and he giggled behind his fingers. ‘That’s what I call Tiberius. Did you see his face?’ he continued. ‘There are bits dropping off. The Gods should call him home, eh?’ Gaius’s eyes gleamed.

Was he mad, I wondered? Or had he taken some juice which stirred his soul and excited his wits.

‘You’ll see such sights here, Parmenon, believe me! I don’t like your companion,’ he continued breathlessly. ‘Sejanus’s turd dropped hot from his anus.’

I stared round the room: it was some sort of writing office with one window overlooking the garden.

‘Oh, don’t worry,’ Caligula reassured me. ‘The cadaver can’t hear us. Right, what did Agrippina say?’

I delivered Domina’s message, and Gaius almost did a jig from foot to foot.

‘Got him! Got him! Got him!’ he murmured.

He danced away, a grotesque sight with his tall, stooping figure and his strange hair, leaping from foot to foot, hands raised like some priest in a trance. He danced back to me.

‘Say it again! Say it again!’

I delivered the full message. Caligula was quick. In spite of his excitement, he’d already memorised it and, opening the door, he pushed me out. Macro was waiting, helmet under his arms. He stretched out his hand. I noticed the bracelet on his wrists, which bore a carving of Castor and Pollux. I had seen a similar one in Agrippina’s chamber. Macro drew me close.

‘You did well there, Parmenon.’

‘How did the Emperor know?’ I gasped.

Macro stepped away, playing with the bracelet.

‘Because he’s a God.’

And, turning on his heel, he led me back to join the Minion, who was in a state of almost nervous collapse: one moment sitting on the marble stone wall bench; the next walking up and down.

‘This has never happened before!’ he whined. ‘Never before!’

I looked round the atrium. Macro had disappeared. The door to Tiberius’s chamber was guarded by two burly German ruffians who stood, shields in one hand, drawn swords in the other. The Minion came up and clapped me on the shoulder.

‘I hope that bitch hasn’t been up to mischief.’

I clicked my tongue and smiled. ‘Don’t be frightened,’ I mocked.

Another hour passed. The doors of the chamber were thrown open and Macro beckoned us forward. We walked in. Tiberius looked as if he hadn’t moved. Gaius was standing beside him, immobile as a statue. We went to kneel before them.

‘Not you!’ Tiberius’s voice grated.

I looked up. Tiberius was gesturing at the Minion. He pointed with his thumb over his shoulder at the garden wall.

‘You certainly know how to lie!’ Tiberius accused. ‘You lied to your Emperor! So, let’s see if you can fly as well!’

And, before the Minion could protest, the two German auxiliaries who had followed us in, grasped him by the arm and dragged him out into the garden. They pulled him to the edge of the parapet and tossed him over. Dreadful screams shattered the silence. Tiberius made himself comfortable on the chair.

‘You see, Macro,’ he joked. ‘I told you he couldn’t fly!’