Nero

36

Poor Octavia's exile and murder found its way through even the Senate's thick skin. Not that they actually got off their well-padded backsides to register a protest, naturally, but there was more than a little whiff of revolution in the air that autumn. I even caught a few rumbles of discontent from Arruntius when I invited him and Silia round one evening to split a boiled ostrich.

We'd almost finished the meal. Arruntius, who'd made severe inroads into my best Setinian, was more than a little drunk and eyeing up the young Numidian boy I'd bought a few days before to train as a wine waiter.

'So you're not so struck on your pal the emperor these days, then, Petronius,' he said suddenly.

'Pardon?' We'd been talking about the price of bay-side properties near Baiae: Arruntius was thinking of investing some of the bribes he'd squirrelled away from his Highways and Aqueducts post in the purchase of a small villa. This was a complete non-sequitur.

'I said' — he reached over and absent-mindedly stroked the Numidian lad's bottom as he poured — 'you're less enamoured of our artistic overlord than you have been in the past. Or so rumour has it.'

'We get on well enough.' I cracked a nut. Arruntius was an acceptable dinner companion, but not one to swap cosy secrets with. 'He may not take me into his confidence as much as he used to, but then I've never been a politician like yourself, my dear, so it doesn't really signify.'

Silia was peeling an apple. She looked up.

'No politics, Gnaeus, they're boring. And,' she added carefully, 'bad for one's health.'

The Numidian boy — I'd called him Masinissa, just for fun — smiled a hooded smile and padded off to top up the wine jug.

'Oh, don't misunderstand me, Petronius.' Arruntius had ignored her. He waved his newly filled cup, spilling a few drops on to the couch. 'You wouldn't be alone, old son. Lots of people are having second thoughts about Nero this past year, what with that new wife of his and bastard Tigellinus running things. Too many deaths, my friend. Too much grief.'

'Gnaeus!' Silia spoke quietly, but her voice held a curious warning note. 'That is quite sufficient!'

'Oh, Petronius is safe, darling.' Arruntius shifted his weight round to look at her: he'd got a great deal heavier over the years I'd known him, and now he was quite gross. 'Like he said, he hasn't the balls for politics. But the magic's gone for him as well as everyone else. Eh, Petronius? Am I right or not?'

I said nothing, and nor did Silia: she was looking daggers. Arruntius grinned and reached for an almond cake.

'Of course I'm right,’ he went on. ‘And do you want me to tell you why so many people are pissed off with Nero these days, my dear? Because he isn't a winner any longer. Us broad-stripers, we're tolerant of winners, we'll forgive them a lot.' He paused and stared directly at me. 'You think we're hypocrites. The Senate, I mean. Well, we're not. We're realists. Us and the emperor, it's like a marriage. You've got to have respect both sides. Doesn't matter what each partner does so much, as long as each fulfils the terms of the contract.' He turned suddenly to Silia, spilling the rest of his wine on the table. 'You agree, dear?'

'Gnaeus, I'm terribly sorry but I'm afraid you're drunk, darling.' Silia's voice was frosty. 'We'd best be getting back.'

'No. Oh, yes, I know I'm drunk. But we're not going home. Not just yet.' He dabbed at the spilled wine with a napkin. 'Don't worry that I'll get personal. I didn't mean it that way, you and Petronius can do whatever the hell you please together, I couldn't care less. But you see my point, don't you, Titus? Governing's a contract, and Nero isn't honouring it.'

'Really, my dear,’ I said quietly, ‘I think Silia's right. And it is getting rather late, at that.' I shared her concern: the servants were all reliable, but we were verging very closely on treason here.

Arruntius had heard me, but he paid no notice. Masinissa came back in and he beckoned him over.

'Here, boy. Come and sit by me. You don't want us to go home yet, now, do you?'

Oh, Serapis. We'd had this problem before. The only thing to do was to let the poor darling talk himself out and fall asleep where he lay. We could always throw a blanket over him and leave him there for the night. I raised my eyebrows at Silia, but she was looking the other way. Arruntius draped his left arm round the lad’s shoulders and held up his empty cup to be filled.

'He's ballsed up the Armenian war for a start,' he said. 'We could've held Armenia against the Parthians if he'd shown a bit more spunk. Then there was the business with the corn.'

'That wasn't his fault,' I said. Nor it was; through an unlucky combination of events almost three hundred grain ships had been lost with their cargoes, and Lucius had ordered a barn-load of corn which had gone mouldy dumped into the Tiber. As a result Rome's granaries had been left almost empty.

'Maybe not his fault, but his responsibility. It's the emperor's job to look after the city's corn supply. Otherwise the mob gets upset and we're all in trouble.' Arruntius's forefinger was stroking the boy's nipple through his tunic. 'And another thing. Three hundred ships wrecked, then that fancy new Greek gymnasium of his struck by lightning. Then the earthquake at Pompeii. Too many disasters all in one year. I may not be superstitious, Petronius, but even I get the feeling someone's trying to tell us something. It all adds up.'

'It all adds up to what?'

'I told you.' His voice was becoming slightly slurred: that last cup of wine might have done it. Surreptitiously I indicated to Masinissa to keep the top-ups coming. 'To Nero being a loser. Even then we might be more sympathetic if he'd back up a bit where we're concerned, but he couldn't care less.'

'You being the Senate again?' All this was quite alarming. I was used to Arruntius shooting his mouth off when he was drunk, but usually it was only hot air. This sounded more serious.

'Us being the Senate. Nero may hate our guts but he's a fool to make it so obvious, because some of us may just decide we've had enough and do something about it.'

'Arruntius, I really think that we should — ’

'Piso for one. Ever since that slimy bastard Romanus tried to get Seneca indicted he's — '

'Gnaeus! That's enough!' Silia snapped. She'd been getting more and more restless, and I'd assumed it was because of Arruntius's bad manners: his left hand had moved down to the hem of the slave-boy's tunic. Evidently it wasn't: I'd rarely seen her so angry.

Arruntius, too, was surprised. His mouth opened then shut tight as a clam's.

Silia turned to me. 'Titus, it's been a lovely evening,’ she said, ‘but I really do think we'd better leave.' Her eyes flicked back to Arruntius. 'Come on,darling. Now.'

Arruntius grunted and slipped tamely off his couch.

'Very well,' he said. ''Night, Petronius. Lovely evening. Lovely ostrich, lovely wine.' Deliberately he bent forwards and kissed Masinissa on the lips. 'Lovely boy. Yum! Buy him from you?'

'Not at present, dear. He still has novelty value. Perhaps later.'

He nodded. 'Look forward to it. Sorry about the…' He waved his right hand vaguely, realised he was still holding his wine-cup, drained it and set it mouth down on the table. 'Sorry about the spiel. Got carried away.'

'Don't mention it.'

'Mum's the word, eh?'

Silia reached over and tucked his arm firmly beneath her own.

'Good night, Titus,' she said.

I thought, when they'd gone, about what Arruntius had said. Or almost said. I knew of Decius Romanus. He was a narrow-striper like myself, a notorious fortune-hunter who kept just one jump ahead of the bailiffs. Not long after Octavia's murder he'd gone to Lucius privately (rumour had it with Tigellinus's blessing) and told him he had proof that Seneca was involved in a plot with several notable senators, including the aristocratic Gnaeus Calpurnius Piso. Luckily the poor dear went about things in such a ham-fisted way that not even Lucius believed him. Seneca provided clear proof of his innocence, and Romanus was exiled to Spain for bringing a malicious charge.

Now. Piso might feel resentment against Romanus for bringing the charge, but he couldn't — as Arruntius had implied — harbour any specially bad feelings for Lucius, who'd thrown it out. But wouldn't it be curious if Romanus was right after all, for the wrong reasons?

I wouldn't've given it a moment's thought if it hadn't been for Silia's behaviour. She'd been on edge as soon as Arruntius had brought the subject of Lucius up, and when he mentioned Seneca she'd come down on him like a ton of ice and whisked him home. Did Silia know something I didn't? And if so why should she be so desperate for me not to find out? This secrecy wasn't like her. It wasn't like her at all.

I was worried. Very worried indeed.