Nest of Vipers

THE CHILD WILL RULE

The Nones of November

AD 31

One week later: Rome's rage against Sejanus begins to subside when his children are strangled in prison

Tiberius fought to stop his hands shaking so he could press his ring into the soft wax. He left it there for as long as he dared, blowing on the wax to cool it, before the tremors could be held off no more and he lifted his hand. But the little imprint of the eagle was perfect; no edges had blurred. This was a good omen.

'See, Macro,' he said. 'The eagle is beautiful. Agrippina's release from imprisonment is signed, and Drusus's too. My family are freed.'

'Caesar is merciful,' said Macro, who was now Prefect of the Praetorian Guard. He carefully took the directive from Tiberius's hands.

With the day's most pressing task complete, Tiberius felt his anxiety return. 'When will Antonia come back?' he asked. 'Has she sent word from Rome?'

'Until the Lady informs you directly of her plans, Caesar, I cannot know. Her correspondence is for your eyes only.'

'Yes. Yes, of course. There is nothing among my letters, nothing from her?'

'It appears not.'

'Perhaps tomorrow, then.' The skin on Tiberius's arms felt as if ants were crawling on it, but when he scratched the itch there was nothing to be seen.

Macro studied him with detachment. 'I'm sure Antonia's letter is imminent, Caesar, as is her return. I have been told that Livilla is dead.'

Tiberius took some comfort from this. When Macro had gone, he rifled through the morning's letters and scrolls again, making sure that nothing from Antonia had slipped his eye. The lid on a nondescript canister was loose, and when he tossed it aside the thing opened. A little glass vial slipped out and onto the ground.

Tiberius stopped still, staring at the object. Fear clenched him at once, but as he stared the feeling subsided after several minutes, replaced by something more familiar to him: compulsion. His tremor was terrible as he tried to reach for the vial, his right hand shaking so much he couldn't grip the glass. He had to use both his hands, the left steadying the right, just to pick it up. He opened the lid and the sweet stink of the Eastern flower emerged. He flung it away into the garden.

'Macro!' he stammered in rage, looking wildly about him. 'Is this some joke from you, Macro, is it? Taunting your Emperor?'

But Macro had left the terrace. Tiberius was alone.

Tiberius gawked at where the vial had fallen. The draught was seeping into the soil of an autumn flowerbed. Beginning to weep at his shattered willpower, Tiberius stumbled from his couch and crawled to the bed on his knees. Once he reached it, he pressed his mouth to the spill, sucking the dirt through his teeth.

He had begun the morning hoping for Antonia's return. He finished it praying she would be endlessly delayed.

On his way to the dock to where the trireme waited, Macro saw Little Boots and Aemilius lazing themselves in the Emperor's pleasure garden. He smiled to himself. 'Not at school?' he called out.

The two boys started at being sprung and snatched up scrolls, having him believe they were studying. Macro laughed.

Little Boots tossed his scroll aside with disgust, not bothering with a front. 'I'm far too old for school — it's humiliating,' he called, plumping the cushion he had been resting on.

As he turned to continue on his way, Macro noticed which cushion it was. Sedeo — 'I sit' — was embroidered on its seat. 'Is that the present from your great-grandmother?' he rebuked over his shoulder. 'You should take greater care not to get it dirty, Little Boots.'

'How did he know who gave it to you?'Aemilius said, amazed.

Little Boots looked blank for a moment, then took off at a run.

'Where are you going?' Aemilius called.

Macro heard him coming as he approached the dock and stopped, not bothering to turn around. The youth faced him and Macro cocked an eyebrow at him benignly.

Little Boots realised his mouth had gone dry. 'Do — do you know the significance of my great-grandmother's present?' he stammered.

'Yes, I do,' said Macro.

Little Boots waited but nothing more came. 'Well? Will you tell me?'

'No,' said Macro.

Frustration boiled in Little Boots. 'That is unfair! If you know what it is, you should tell me. Why is a stupid cushion so significant?'

Macro shrugged. 'Who can say?'

'You can say!' complained Little Boots. 'If my great-grandmother has told you, then tell me, Prefect.'

Macro leaned close and Little Boots felt intimidated anew. 'Your great-grandmother told me a number of things, and to each of them she added that I must not tell you.'

Little Boots's mouth gaped.

'You must discover all things for yourself. And only when you do discover them, your great-grandmother believes, will you be ready to know what they mean.'

Macro resumed his progress to the dock, leaving the youth staring after him. Little Boots saw that a document had slipped from the bundle under Macro's arm.

'You dropped this!' he shouted. Macro stopped again and looked to where Little Boots pointed. 'A sealed letter. You dropped it.'

Macro made no move to retrieve the thing, watching Little Boots. Not knowing what game was being played, the young man stooped and picked it up for him, holding it out.

'That's unfortunate,' said Macro.

Little Boots just looked in confusion.

'Look, the wax is cracked,' Macro went on. 'The seal is broken. It must have happened when you touched it.'

Affronted, Little Boots went to defend himself but Macro raised his hand to stop him. 'If I weren't in such a hurry to return to Rome, I would go back to the Emperor and ask him to seal it again. But I do not have the time.'

Little Boots tried to fathom what was really being said to him.

'Perhaps you can bring it to the Emperor's attention?' said Macro. 'I will collect the letter when I return in five days' time — provided the Emperor remembers to reseal it. If he does not remember, then perhaps you can bring that to his attention too?'

Macro departed, leaving Little Boots holding the document in silence. The Prefect's real instruction was clear. He wanted Little Boots to read what the document contained. But why? Would it help Little Boots to discover all that he presently had not? He slowly unfurled the papyrus in the thin November sun, letting the cracked fragments of wax break off and fall to the ground.

It was Tiberius's directive to the Senate instructing the release of Little Boots's mother and brother.

With Little Boots having been snoring upstairs in their cramped room for hours, Aemilius rubbed his eyes and prepared to join him, blowing out his oil lamp and putting his pen and ink away. He shared Little Boots's frustration at having to complete scholarly tasks now that both of them were men, but he did not share his friend's recklessness. The thought of defying the Revered Lady Antonia's orders — and, what's more, being caught by her for it — filled Aemilius with dread. And so, whenever Little Boots fell asleep before he did, which was now quite often, Aemilius took the opportunity to slip away and cram in secret in a little downstairs room. He had managed to read a great deal in this manner, comforting himself that he could answer any and all of Antonia's questions, should the formidable matron return to quiz him.

Tucking his scroll of Livy's History of Early Rome under his arm, Aemilius entered the ground floor latrine. He disliked sitting down on household lavatories when it wasn't necessary, preferring to piss from the standing position, as if filling up a fuller's pot. It was of no concern to him that half his urine missed its mark. He stared into space, trying to recall as many of Livy's names and events as he could, until he realised that his piss was making an unusual sound as it struck the sewer below. It was not the sound of water hitting water, but of water hitting something that didn't belong in there. Livy left his head. Aemilius shook himself off and peered into the void. A crumpled piece of papyrus floated on the water, the remains of its red wax seal still visible. It was the Emperor's mark. Intrigued, Aemilius considered fishing the thing out to read it.

'Here you are,' said Little Boots, sticking his head around the door.

Aemilius jumped. 'I thought you were asleep.'

'How can I sleep at a time like this?'

'It's long past sunset — when else are you supposed to sleep?'

'When my grandmother hasn't just shown up, for a start.'

Aemilius was shocked. 'Lady Antonia is here?'

'Her ship has docked. She's in a hell of a temper, demanding all of us attend her so she can discuss the schoolwork she set.'

'But it's the middle of the night.'

'You'll tell that to my grandmother, will you?'

Aemilius knew he would do nothing of the kind. But he felt the scroll of Livy under his arm and felt a degree less panicked.

'Go ahead, they're all gathering,' said Little Boots. 'I'm right behind you.'

When his friend had left the room, Little Boots loosened his loincloth and sat at the latrine. Nature took its course, and he gave a satisfied smile at what it was also doing to the crumpled piece of papyrus.

When my domina proposed I accompany her on a walk through the streets to the Temple of the Great Mother, I threw myself to the floor automatically.

'Thank you, domina — it would be a great honour.'

After several moments of silence I looked up from the floor, thinking I had offended her again.

Livia was looking at me, but not with anger. 'Just the two of us will walk,' she said. 'No one else.'

I writhed again at her feet. 'Such, such a great honour.'

She rolled her eyes. 'Too much grovelling from you. I'm bored with it. Time to smarten yourself up, Iphicles, if you want to get on. I'm bored with having to spell everything out to you.'

I lurched upright as fast as my old bones would let me. 'Spell everything out?'

'Sometimes you're just cretinous,' she said, making her way down the corridor. I struggled to keep up, trying to guess what she had planned. I was at a loss but had no intention of staying behind and missing out.

We stepped into the Palatine streets and began our progress towards the summit of the hill, where the Temple stood, but we'd barely gone a hundred feet when we sighted fresh graffiti upon a wall: When the moment of succession arrives, the son of Germanicus will have the full support of the Praetorian Guard.

I was astonished and had to reread it, repeating the words aloud. 'The son of Germanicus… Moment of succession… Full support of the Guard.'

'Isn't it appalling?' said Livia, watching me read. 'These ruffians with their paintbrushes should have their hands cut off for defacing property. I deplore whoever pays them to write such provocative things.'

I knew without question it was her. 'This concerns the second king.'

'Does it?' She resumed the walk towards the Temple.

I hurried to stay at her side, a new excitement empowering me. 'Does this mean you accept what I have been saying about the identity of the second king?'

'Possibly,' said Livia, now in a playful mood.

This was momentous for me. ' Domina,' I stammered, 'when did you at last come to believe that Little Boots would be that king?'

'When it became so irrelevant.'

I stopped dead. 'Irrelevant? The second king?'

'Yes. Completely irrelevant.'

'But Cybele? Her prophecies?'

'Also irrelevant. I had it all wrong. Thrasyllus showed me my error. First in a dream while I was paralysed at your hands, and then again, right before I cut his head off. When I think of it, I'm ashamed. All those years spent fretting about my kings, when if only I'd known what the goddess actually had in store, I could have saved myself. She sent her original prophecies to test my mettle, I think, to see what I was made of — to see if I was worthy of her.'

I was hopelessly confused. The sky-blue face of the Temple came into view.

'Yes, the second king couldn't be more irrelevant,' Livia declared.

I snapped. 'That's ridiculous, domina! What could be more important than the second king?'

She smiled wickedly at me. 'The second queen?'

I could only stand there with my mouth open.

'All that time worrying about Tiberius's successor, when really we should have been worrying about my own.'

' Your successor, domina?'

'Indeed. Which descendant from my womb will be Empress of Rome?' Livia winked at me. 'That's the real position of power, of course, and of so much greater interest to the goddess. But you already know that, don't you, Iphicles?'

I realised I did. 'Who is this second queen?' I whispered in awe.

She told me.

We reached the great temple's steps and Livia began to ascend, with me following her. 'Where do you think you're going?' she demanded.

I was still reeling and couldn't answer.

'I warned you about all this spelling out — I've had enough of it,' she said. 'For the final time you are no longer Attis, therefore you cannot come in here. The shrine of Cybele is no longer open to you, slave.'

Crushed, I begged her for final enlightenment. 'Just tell me who I am, domina. Which temple is my own?'

She pulled the veil from her face and held it before her, as light as gossamer. 'The winds will direct you to it,' she said. 'I'm afraid I've lost all patience.' She turned on her heel, letting the hillside breeze snatch the veil from her hand and take it high in the air. Confounded, I heard Livia laughing at me as I went to run after it.

Exhausted, I stood staring in dismay at where the veil had come to rest. 'This is no temple, domina!' I yelled with frustration. It was Calypso's Spell, a dilapidated brothel in the Subura. My heart sank as I realised Livia was still playing jokes to torment me. I was indeed cretinous for believing a floating veil could illuminate anything.

A familiar head stuck out of the brothel door. 'Gods help me — it's the ball-less stud.'

'Lena?' It was the brassy madam from Circe's Enchantments.

'So, how do I look? Do you like my new wig?'

I couldn't muster any comment.

'Charming. It's a third-rate wig, I admit, but it's all I could afford.' She hooked a thumb at the sordid shop front. 'My circumstances are reduced. I lost my best whores in that cave-in.'

Too disappointed, I didn't pay attention to the rest of Lena's story, even when she offered me a discount for old times' sake. With the madam still talking at me, I wandered away, leaving the veil where it lay in the mud.

Veiovis

May, AD 33

Eighteen months later: Emperor Tiberius Julius Caesar Augustus upbraids the Senate for approving the inclusion of a newly unearthed book of Sibylline oracles in the official prophecies

Mimicking Agrippina's inflections perfectly, Little Boots read his mother's latest letter aloud. It was filled with jokes and asides, Forum and theatre gossip, and plenty of tidbits about Oxheads. Agrippina had proven herself a dedicated correspondent since her apparent release from imprisonment. Reclining on a terrace couch together, with the sisters Drusilla and Julilla nearby, Tiberius and Antonia adored Agrippina's uncharacteristically amusing communications.

'"And so I can confirm that my life of retirement here is a joyful, if quiet one now,"' Little Boots read out, coming to the end. '"Beautiful Nilla is more in love with her Ahenobarbus than ever, and we all share their hopes for a healthy child to heal the wound left in their hearts from the baby that died."'

Antonia nodded. 'Such a relief about Nilla,' she said, patting Tiberius's hand. 'I had once feared they were ill-suited.'

Tiberius smiled, benignly, his eyes far away.

'"Until next I write, my dear Little Boots, please give my heartfelt wishes to the Emperor, in whose loving heart I know you prosper. I thank the gods for the role of father he plays in your life. He is our greatest Roman, so just and wise. And I am ever your devoted mother, Agrippina."'

Little Boots glanced at his sisters. Their faces held little expression. But Antonia brushed tears from her eyes. 'So moving,' she said. 'And after all she suffered at Sejanus's hands. Now her life is whole again, and your brother Drusus, too.'

'We have so much to be grateful for, Grandmother,' Little Boots nodded. 'But Drusus has been tardy with his own letters this month.'

'Perhaps one will come from him tomorrow,' suggested Antonia.

Little Boots smiled, but avoided his sisters' eyes. 'I can almost feel it.'

Tiberius's glassy smile shifted. 'Well, now, perhaps a stroll, dear friend?' he said to Antonia. Stretching his withered limbs, he got up from the couch they shared. 'After all this happy news, shall we digest it in the sun?'

'Very nice,' said Antonia, linking her arm in his as she stood.

Tiberius took a cup from a tray. 'I'd better carry this foul stuff with me,' he grimaced. 'Doctor's orders.'

At the terrace periphery the physician Charicles bowed.

'It smells so disgusting.' Antonia wrinkled her nose with a dark look at the obsequious Greek. 'You are very cruel to your Emperor to insist he drinks such a brew,' she admonished Charicles.

'For Caesar's weak lungs,' the physician murmured, bowing again. A trickle of urine ran down his leg. Charicles read the pointed look that Little Boots gave him and he hobbled away. Oblivious, Tiberius and Antonia strolled among the early spring blooms.

As Little Boots returned to the villa, he heard Drusilla behind him.

'I am so grateful that our mother is free and well again,' she said. 'And our brother, too.'

'We have much to thank the gods for,' Little Boots agreed.

'Even though, hurtfully, they write only to you…'

Not for the first time, Little Boots sought to hide his dreadful secret by making excuses for the apparent neglect. But Drusilla stopped him. Her look was bold and direct. 'Would I be right, brother, in guessing that the brew for our grandfather's "weak lungs" contains the strange draught that once so altered his mind?'

'Drusilla!' Little Boots's attempt to look shocked was so unconvincing that his sister only laughed at him.

'Just as I thought — he's pathetic,' said Drusilla. 'And that pants-wetting doctor is in on it too.'

Little Boots squirmed.

'Oh, don't worry,' said Drusilla. 'I know you're up to something, but I won't tell anyone — especially Grandmother Antonia.'

Little Boots narrowed his eyes at his sister. 'What do you want, Drusilla?'

She parted her lips, running her fingers across the fabric of her stola bodice. 'I want to drink it again — I so enjoyed it last time.'

Her brother was stripped of words for some moments. 'You remember it from last time?'

'Of course I do. Bits of it, anyway. And what I do recall… well, it was really rather nice. Wasn't it, brother?'

Little Boots vowed to obtain Drusilla some more of the draught — and more again, if she wished for it.

Through the grate in the cell door, I watched with dispassion as the transvestite Drusus went mad.

'They were trying to starve me, Iphicles — or that's what I thought.'

'Starve you? Surely not, domine,' I said, making notes on a tablet with my stylus.

He was naked, caked in filth, his young bones sharp against his skin. He could no longer see, so I had lied to him, claiming it was night. 'That's what I thought,' he said. 'No food had come for days. I feared they wanted me to die in here for the lack of it.'

'But that seems unnecessarily cruel, domine,' I said, thinking of how his aunt Livilla had been found dead with her face missing, chewed off by Scylax.

'But I was wrong,' Drusus laughed, 'wrong all along. There was a wonderful meal in my cell the whole time.' He put another piece of mattress stuffing into his mouth. 'Delicious,' he declared.

'Very good, domine,' I smiled at him. 'Shall we return to the story of your life now?'

'Why not?' Drusus replied, swallowing.

Not feeling any need to inform my domina, I had taken it upon myself to record the condemned young man's memoirs before he expired, just as I had already recorded, with no real purpose in mind, the memories of a number of others who also feature in this history. And I would do so again, with quite a few more.

I looked down at the words I had written and felt doubly privileged to have been the scribe. Drusus had told me that when his hunger pangs had been at their most unbearable, he had heard a persistent voice in his ear.

' One brother's crime sees him dine at leisure of his bed…'

But now that he was eating again, Drusus had told me, the voice had gone away.

Feeling Death's wings beating close, Agrippina slipped in and out of consciousness. The gladiator was in her cell, bending to kiss her lips.

'Flamma,' she whispered.

'The afterlife awaits you, Lady,' he said, his hair golden in the light from the open cell door. 'We will live there as lovers.'

'But I can't go yet, Flamma. Tell them — '

'The decision isn't yours, Lady,' he smiled. 'When Death decides, you must go.'

'Please… Not while my children's fates are unknown.'

Flamma was reassuring. 'Nero and Drusus have already passed and are waiting there for you.'

A tear fell from her ruined eye. 'It is so unjust for them.'

'Ssh, now,' Flamma comforted her. 'It could not be helped. But Drusilla and Julilla are alive and safe, with their brother Little Boots to protect them.'

She held this to her heart. 'What of Nilla? I fear her fate in such a marriage.'

Flamma assuaged her. 'Nilla has two more marriages ahead of her, Lady, and each union will be more auspicious than the last. Ahenobarbus's time will be forgotten.'

She sighed, relieved.

'But you must know,' Flamma added, 'that the men who will love her most will not be her husbands. Yet they will never leave her side.'

'Not her husbands? How can it be?'

'Because they are her slaves, Lady. Yet not slaves at all. One is the lost grandson of Augustus.'

She was awed. 'And the other?'

Flamma said my name.

Hearing Death's wings directly above her now, Agrippina kissed the gladiator's hands. 'Have the gods spoken to you of these things?'

'A goddess has. Cybele…' His image began to melt in her fading vision. 'She told me what you must know about Nilla's golden future.'

When Flamma had told her everything, he spoke words she had heard once before: ' One would-be queen is one-eyed too until the truth gives comforts.' It all made sense to her now, and she was comforted truly.

Flamma kissed her a final time, before turning to leave. 'Don't go,' she whispered. But as he stepped into the light that streamed through the cell door, his softening, shimmering appearance dissolved into Livia's.

'You?'

My domina looked humble.

With her final moments ebbing, Agrippina found she wasn't shocked to see her enemy. With all she had been told of the golden future, she realised now why her father and mother, her brothers and husband had all had to die at my domina 's hands.

'I am no longer filled with rage for their deaths,' she said, closing her eyes.

Livia left the prison cell behind her, serene in all she had achieved. She hoped this might be the moment when the tiny voice would come to her ear. She had been expecting it and the timing seemed right. She was not disappointed.

' Your work is done, it's time to leave — the sword is yours to pass…' the voice told her.

She corrected it. 'My work is almost done,' she said. 'I must retain my sword a little longer.'

Macro was standing near her litter in the square, and Livia's demeanour changed as she approached him.

'I am tired of this waiting,' he announced.

'Too bad,' said Livia. 'Find patience.'

'My patience has expired. I want to put things into play with Little Boots before we die of old age.'

Livia was stern. 'He is nowhere near ready, and he will not be ready until he realises the move for himself.'

'The stupid boy hasn't the head for it.'

Livia stepped into her litter. 'Well, of course he hasn't — yet. But he will, I can promise that. When he does, your time will also come, my lover, but not a second before.'

Macro chewed at his lip, bristling.

Livia went to flick the curtains closed against him but then thought of something. 'There is another plan you can put into play.'

'For your great-grandson?'

'For my great-granddaughter, Nilla.'

'She's a recluse. She never leaves her house.'

Livia's look was cynical. 'I see threats to us in the girl. Her life of seclusion and grief is an act.'

Macro raised an eyebrow as the bearers lifted the litter, bringing Livia's face level with his. She leaned in close to him, her lips brushing his. 'Nilla has a hold on Little Boots that could destroy everything we've achieved so far.'

Macro considered this. 'Do you want me to kill her?'

Livia made a show of pondering his offer before coming to a 'decision'.

As the litter carried her away, Livia was surprised to hear the whispered voice once more. ' The end, the end, your mother says — to deception now depend…'

This annoyed her. 'I have never depended on anyone more than Deception,' she replied. 'And yes, I will continue to depend upon him once I am gone,' Livia added, silencing the insistent voice.

Lena placed a veil across her face and stepped out the door of Calypso's Spell, looking up and down the street for a public litter. She spied one at the place where the road turned at a sharp angle. The bearers swilled honeyed wine at a tavern, waiting for trade. Lena whistled, catching their attention. In no great hurry they drained their cups and ambled towards her brothel with the transport.

'I'm going to the temple,' Lena yelled behind her to the whores.

'Which one, Lena?'

'None of your business.' She patted the contents of the little bag she carried and fired a parting shot. 'Wash all your damned holes in salty water while I'm gone, and try to stay away from the wine.'

'Screw you.'

She moved well away from the shopfront, not wanting the girls to hear the destination she gave to the litter-bearers. When she had said it, the bearers weren't bothered, merely naming their price. Lena felt deflated. 'Did you hear me?'

'Like a bell,' said the leader.

Dignified, she climbed into the litter.

A new friend she had made in recent weeks had assured Lena that this temple offered exactly what she needed. But with the bearers' lack of surprise, Lena hoped she had not been lied to. Yet, considering again the arts that this friend, Martina, seemed to know, Lena felt sure the visit would prove profitable.

She arranged herself comfortably in the transport for the trip across the city. A gust of wind blew the curtains aside just as the litter reached the Forum; Lena clung to her veil, not wanting anyone outside to recognise her. She didn't fear they'd guess her purpose, only that they'd laugh and point at her. Who was she, after all, a rotten old whore, to go around Rome in a litter? People would call her Cleopatra if they knew, or worse, the Augusta Livia.

Flicking the curtains closed, Lena caught a glimpse of someone she knew would never laugh at her. She waved without thinking. Startled in the midst of an errand, I waved back. But my jaw had dropped. Lena drew the curtains shut then, but it occurred to her that I may not have recognised her at all. She was wearing a veil.

It was gloomy beneath the trees as Lena paid the bearers and waited until they had gone, nervous of being observed. When she was quite sure she was alone, she took a long, uneasy look up the slimy, crooked steps and told herself she had no other option but to go inside. Skill and endeavour had failed her. She needed the help of the god to rebuild herself now.

The scurry of vermin when she pushed open the door was unnerving, but Lena had encountered worse in brothels and bravely stepped inside. Having come so far, she was determined to go through with Martina's plan. She reached the plinth gingerly and took the hammer, nail and tablet from the bag. She held the lead in her hands and felt the surprising weight of it.

' May disaster strike my competitors worse than every disaster I've known,' she read. She chortled at the curse and then felt a twinge of fear that perhaps it wasn't brutal enough. Should she have defined the disaster? A ruinous fire? Or an outbreak of plague? She banished the thought. Losing whores beneath the avalanche was a disaster worse than any she could think of. To somehow top it with one greater still was a god's work, beyond mortal imagination. This was what she was here for, after all.

With three swift blows of the hammer, Lena nailed the curse tablet to the plinth, where so many others already hung. She sighed at the sheer number of them. Would the god even notice hers? Looking up at the deity's great statue to beseech him, she was suddenly struck by how familiar the god's face was.

A noise behind her made her start. 'Iphicles!'

'Where did you obtain your veil from, Lena?' I had followed her all the way from the Forum.

She was too shocked to answer me for a moment.

'Your gossamer veil,' I said. 'Where did you get it, Lena?'

She looked at me as if I was mad. 'I found it in the street. Someone must have lost it. It was too nice to throw away, so I took it.'

I fell into thoughtful silence as Lena looked up at the statue again. 'Iphicles,' she said eventually.

'You don't need to say it, Lena — I know.'

'You know? But what do you know?'

I pointed up at the god. 'Veiovis has my face, or I have his, whichever it is. I know, Lena, and I agree with you. The resemblance cannot be a coincidence.'

Ahenobarbus crouched in the Suburan alley, the sounds of the teeming slums all around him an affront to his ears. The lusts, the laughter of the poor, their mundane talk, the snatches of their arguments — these echoes of ordinary lives were a mockery to him, condemned as he was to live in silence. Every sinew of his being longed for words, for the facility for speech, and every breath in his chest silently cursed the cruelty of gods that would waste such precious gifts upon beasts that held them in no value.

He touched his torch to the oil-soaked rags. They began to smoke, delicately at first, thin, grey wisps floating to the windows above. Ahenobarbus, who had always loved fire, would punish the beasts for possessing what he was denied.

Pale and feverish upon their bed, Nilla muttered her eternal questions from dry, cracked lips. 'How could the Emperor have allowed my mother and brothers to die?'

Her lover pressed a sponge to her face. 'I have no answer — I do not know.'

'How could he do it? Sejanus was gone. But the Emperor didn't save them. He let them starve.'

'Ssh, now, my love. Hush.'

'Why have I heard nothing from Capri? Nothing since my grandmother returned there. What has happened to her? What has happened to my sisters?'

'Please, Nilla — I do not know. You must stop tormenting yourself like this.'

'How can I, when I don't know what has silenced them? When I don't know what has happened to them?'

'Please, try to sleep. You're ill.'

'Why have I been told nothing?' she cried out. 'Why am I so worthless?'

Tears slipped down his cheeks as he held her to keep her still.

'Why am I so ignored, Burrus?' she sobbed. 'Why am I so alone?'

His world had receded to their bed. Like Nilla beside him, he no longer heard the lives lived by others. They were an island, the two of them, cut off from the world, which was why, when the old, roughened hands pulled at his clothes and tried to rouse him he barely sensed it. When the same hands tugged at his hair, he felt nothing. When the voice shouted and wept and cursed at him, it seemed to Burrus as though it came from a distance of miles. It was only when the old servant slapped hard at Nilla's face that Burrus was pulled from the spell.

'Don't touch her.'

'The Guards!' the old woman yelled at him. 'Wake up, boy — it's the Guards!' The words penetrated, but not their meaning.

'The Guards — they're here!'

'What guards? What do you mean?'

He rejoined the world to the sound of fists pounding the door below.

'The Praetorian Prefect!' the old woman shouted at him in terror. 'He is demanding we open the house in the name of the Emperor!'

Burrus ran to the corridor as the battering ram reduced the street door to splinters. In the garden the smirking Albucilla thrilled that her rival's destruction was imminent. Wherever Ahenobarbus was, she only hoped he would return in time to see it.

The alley fire took quickly, catching hold of the rubbish Ahenobarbus piled to feed its hunger. The flames spread surely upwards, licking at the windowsills of the insulae. A woman looked out of one of the windows and saw the peril. Ahenobarbus's hair shone as he masturbated before her in the glow. She screamed and pointed at him. Other beasts appeared from neighbouring windows and Ahenobarbus took to his feet. Men leaped from the windows to chase him.

His heart pounding with excitement and terror, Ahenobarbus lurched from the arches of the Circus Maximus and up the long Steps of Cacus to ascend the Palatine.

'Fire demon!' his pursuers screamed. 'His hair is on fire! Look at him — it's the demon!'

The sky glowed with the cleansing blaze that consumed the Suburan slums.

'He's the one who starts every fire in Rome! He wants to kill us all!'

'Fire demon!'

Ahenobarbus reached the summit, staggering in exhaustion across the flagstone square to the Temple of the Great Mother. He threw himself into the shadows of the great columns as the mob attained the crest behind him.

'Find the demon with the burning hair!'

They fanned out through the maze of the Palatine's streets, screaming to the gods for his head. Ahenobarbus laughed to himself, as he was safe.

He stole his way in silence among the Concubia shadows, but when he came to the House of the Aemilii, his shock and rage at what he saw made him want to seek out the aged slave for a beating. She had carelessly left the street door open to thieves.

But when Ahenobarbus crept to the threshold, he saw the truth: the door had been smashed from its pivots. His terror returned; the mob had identified him and taken revenge. Shaking with fear, yet perversely aroused by it, Ahenobarbus moved inside his ancestral home. The atrium was dark. There were all the signs of brutal entry, yet it had not been sacked. The wax mask of his father was in place, as was the shrine to the household gods.

Ahenobarbus's eyes found his wife and her slave lover in the dark, huddled on the stairs like children. He was confounded. Was this forced entry the work of the mob at all? He signalled to the pair, but when they didn't seem to hear, he struck at the face of his wife's slave.

Burrus looked up, dazed. 'Macro came with his men, domine.'

Ahenobarbus didn't understand.

'The Praetorians. I took up position on the stairs to defend,' Burrus said, 'but they had no interest in me — or in Nilla.'

Ahenobarbus again struck the slave, but this time in bewilderment. Burrus didn't flinch. 'It was Albucilla, domine. They came for her. She was charged with immorality and taken away in chains.'

The Kalends of June

AD 35

Twenty-five months later: a phoenix is sighted on the Nile, occasioning heated discussion among Egyptians regarding its significance

The Aemilii sisters sat huddled before the furnace in the kitchens, shivering despite the summer heat.

'Condemned to exile,' Domitia sobbed. 'No shoes, no money, just pushed out the gates and told to leave Rome. It's such a terrible fate.'

'It's so cruel,' Lepida nodded, wiping her eyes. 'And after being so long imprisoned.'

'For "immorality".' Domitia shook her head with dismay. 'What a travesty when the Emperor's own immorality offends every god.'

'Ssh, Domitia,' the elder sister warned, fearful of who might be listening.

'Nilla never leaves that room,' Domitia scoffed, 'and even if she did she'd hear nothing of what we say. She's lost her mind. She's gone mad, locked away up there with that brute of a slave. It's Albucilla who should have been our poor brother's bride, not that horrid Claudian.'

'I agree,' said Lepida. 'If Albucilla and Ahenobarbus had been allowed to marry, none of this would have happened — none of it. But still,' she added in dismay, 'I believed there was something of mother's promise in it — that it would see the blessing of Veiovis. I truly believed it.'

Their brother in their thoughts again, the women returned to weeping.

'What will become of him?' cried Domitia. 'Albucilla loved him so, she truly did. She knew how to talk to him. She understood everything he tried to say. How will he ever find another woman like Albucilla?'

'He's been condemned to loneliness by this,' Lepida sobbed. 'It's just as bad as being exiled.'

They sobbed in pity for several moments more, then were startled by footsteps at the door.

'I have my uncle, Mama.' Lepida's little daughter, Messalina, led the grieving Ahenobarbus into the kitchen.

'Messalina, you're a good girl,' said Lepida, drying her eyes and getting up to kiss her child.

'He needs to eat,' said Messalina. 'I made him come.'

'What a thoughtful girl you are,' said Domitia, patting her sister's child. The women ushered Ahenobarbus to a place by the furnace, stoking the flames for him.

'He always liked it here as a boy,' Lepida whispered to her daughter. 'It comforted him when he was sad at not being able to speak. You did well to think of it.'

Messalina beamed and accepted the honeyed bread her mother passed her before a plate was given to Ahenobarbus. He took the food without eating it.

'Why have no charges been laid against my uncle?' Messalina asked, her mouth full of bread.

'Child!' Lepida cried.

'Well, it is very strange. For Albucilla to have been immoral, didn't she need my uncle to be immoral with?'

'Messalina, you wicked girl!' her mother admonished her. 'Give me back that honeyed bread — you shan't be eating a crumb while you say such things.'

'Mama!'

'Give it.'

'I'm hungry,' Messalina wailed, clutching the bread in her fist.

Lepida went to slap it from her but Ahenobarbus suddenly stood. He moved to where Messalina cowered and stooped to the girl, hugging her to his chest. There were tears in his eyes as he looked back to his sisters.

'My uncle isn't upset with me,' said Messalina, quietly.

Lepida accepted this.

'It is right to ask what she asks, Lepida,' said the younger sister. 'Albucilla has been charged and condemned but our brother has escaped it. If they wanted to destroy him, they would have. Instead he is ignored.' She looked to Ahenobarbus. 'I believe it is all intended as a message to you, brother, just like my forced union with Drusus was, and your own with Nilla.'

Ahenobarbus released Messalina from the hug. He nodded in agreement.

'A message of what?' said Lepida.

Domitia pondered it. 'It's a warning.'

'This makes no sense.'

'It makes perfect sense.' Domitia believed she now understood everything. 'Ahenobarbus is a threat. Nilla has the blood of Augustus in her veins. If our brother were an ambitious man, he could use his marriage to Nilla to attract a following around him, an entourage. He could even fight for the throne in Nilla's name.'

'But our brother would never risk such things. He's a modest man!'

Domitia agreed. 'And they know it, the Claudians. But Albucilla's ruin was a warning to our brother that they will destroy him if he chooses to forget his modesty.'

Lepida looked to their brother and saw that he, too, believed this theory to be true. 'Yet more reason to hate that little bitch,' she said.

While her mother and aunt were focused on her mute uncle, Messalina slipped away from the kitchens, munching her bread. She padded up the corridor that took her back to the grand old house's atrium. She stood for while, contemplating its gloomy corners, glad she was only a visitor and not a resident. The house spooked her. After a time, she peeked in the entrance hall.

'Hello,' I said.

Messalina jumped. 'Who are you?'

'I am only a slave.'

I had to cover a smile as the child at once grew imperious. 'What do you want here, slave?'

'Nothing from you,' I replied. 'I am here to see the mistress of the house.'

The girl curled her lip. 'You mean horrid Nilla?'

I tut-tutted. 'What a disrespectful child.'

'She brings misfortune on my family. I think she's a witch.'

'If you ever met an actual witch, you'd know at once that the Lady Nilla is not one.'

Messalina glared at me. 'Do you know who I am, slave?'

'Of course I do. You are the rarest of birds.'

The girl was taken aback. 'How — how do you know about that name?'

'I know about many things,' I replied enigmatically, enjoying how much I was maddening her. 'Have they told you what it means?'

'Of course they have.'

She was lying, which pleased me. She knew the phrase but little else. 'So, they've told you nothing of Fate?'

The child narrowed her eyes. 'They told me I must be very nice to Claudius,' she whispered.

'Yes?'

'He's so horrible and crippled,' Messalina said. 'He smells, too, and he drools.'

'Oh dear.'

'They also told me — ' But she stopped herself. 'You're a slave. I'm not telling you anything.'

'They've told you you'll marry Claudius one day, haven't they?'

Her eyes went wide at me knowing such things. 'Well, I never will! I want a handsome husband!'

'I don't blame you,' I said. She could only stare in complete confusion now. 'Why don't you come upstairs to visit the Lady Nilla with me?'

Despite herself, Messalina allowed me to take her hand.

Weakened by her endless despair, Nilla was still roused by my statement, if only for a moment. 'That's cruel, Iphicles. How can you come here to say Albucilla's fall was due to me?'

I shook my head sorrowfully, very aware of Burrus glaring at me from his place by her side.

'You know I have done nothing to her. I am innocent.'

'Of course I know it,' I said. 'But it is not how others see it. Perhaps Macro believes you could be a threat to his own ambitions.'

'Macro's ambitions? What am I to him?'

'Perhaps Albucilla's fall has been intended as a message for you. It seems hard to believe it is a message for the Aemilii, who are of no importance to anything.'

Burrus was appalled. 'Nilla is innocent of political designs, Iphicles.'

'Of course,' I said.

'You speak as if Macro expects such designs in her.'

I shrugged, watching them keenly. 'Such is the nature of Rome. Women are as much a threat to those in power as men — perhaps even more. Men fight in the open and are defeated in the open. But women scheme in the shadows, their intentions hidden until their net is cast.'

Burrus kept his eyes hard upon me, and the change in them, when it came, was exactly as I'd hoped it would be. He looked to Nilla with intensity, something I had not seen in him for a long time. 'With others holding these false expectations,' he whispered to her, 'perhaps you would be better to use them to your advantage.'

Nilla stared, incredulous.

'If they fear you already,' Burrus explained, 'perhaps you should rise to those fears. Leave this house behind and find the men who loved your father and mother. Become someone to be genuinely afraid of. What have you got to lose, Nilla?'

She was horrified. 'This is what destroyed my mother — this male ambition is obscene in a woman of Rome!'

'Nilla.'

'It's true, you know it is — you were there to see it.'

'Your mother was hotheaded and reckless, and consumed by grief. It made her blind to her real enemies — and blind to herself.'

'Burrus!'

'You have none of those flaws. None of them.'

Nilla was enraged. 'I am consumed by grief! I am ruined by it. I am my mother's daughter in every way.'

Burrus looked to the floor. 'Then you have something she never had the benefit of: you are aware of it.'

They fell quiet for a time. Then Nilla said quietly, 'No ambition, in a man or a woman, can ever be achieved without the Praetorian Guard.'

Burrus flicked his eyes at me. 'That's true,' I whispered.

'But it is not insurmountable,' said Burrus.

'Please,' Nilla beseeched him. 'How could I achieve even my mother's mistakes, let alone her successes? I am weak,' she cried. 'I am broken by Fate!'

I stepped softly forward. 'You have not been broken by Fate,' I said. 'You are merely being tested by it. And as time begins to pass, you will see that you are really a child of destiny, marked for triumph.'

Nilla just looked at me. Then she burst out laughing. 'How can this be? I have done nothing to earn this. I have no protectors and no supporters. I am no one.'

It was true. 'But when you have fought and defeated the cruellest of your enemies, supporters will flock to you. By then you will have earned your destiny. And you won't need anyone to protect you, because you will be Empress of Rome.'

Nilla couldn't believe what she was hearing. 'Who is this enemy? Is it my husband?'

'No,' I said. 'He will easily be defeated when the time comes. He isn't worthy of you.'

'So it's his family, then? They hate me.'

She was getting closer to the truth. 'You will face a battle with the other three Aemilii in turn, but none will be worthy of you. They are your inferiors. No, your true enemy is she who will exact the greatest cost from you before you win victory.'

Nilla slid from the bed with her fists clenched at me. 'Who is she?' she demanded. 'Tell me so that I am warned, Iphicles!' Anger was flushing pity from her heart.

I stood aside to let her see through the door behind me. The child Messalina sat staring over the balcony into the garden below. She had heard nothing of the conversation, but she sensed the hush and turned to us, innocently projecting her beautiful smile into every corner of the room.

I bent to kiss Nilla's hand. 'It is time for me to tell you things about your great-grandmother Livia,' I whispered. 'It is time for me to tell you the truth.'

I left the House of the Aemilii and found my domina waiting for me in her litter.

'You told Nilla everything?' she asked.

'Just as you instructed, domina. She now knows all there is to know.'

' All of it? You told her of all the deaths? You told her that it was my hand that caused them, and you told her why I killed?'

'I did,' I replied.

There was a pause as she studied me through her slender eyes. 'Liar. You left things out. You did not tell her everything.'

I smirked, amused at how easily Livia could always expose me. 'I told her everything she needed to know about your crimes, domina — and of my own, and what came from them. But of the future, well… if I am Veiovis made mortal, then I would be remiss not to hold a few things back. It will make her stronger to discover them for herself.'

Livia flashed with anger and I waited for her to strike me. But then she could only laugh. ' The end, the end, your mother says — to deception now depend…'

I was pleased. 'You quote the prophecy at me, domina?'

'I accept your judgement in these matters, knowing that I will continue to depend upon your wisdom when I am gone.'

I was brought up short. 'Gone, domina? Where are you going?'

She was evasive. 'The end is coming for my schemes. The second queen has been readied, although she will not embrace her destiny for some time, of course. While we wait, we must prepare for the crowning of the second king. A far lesser monarch, obviously, but still of my womb. And he is the means by which Nilla will attain everything.' Livia chuckled. 'If only he knew it.'

'What should I do, domina?'

Livia smiled sadly. 'You should comfort me, slave. It will soon be time to farewell my son.'

The physician Charicles had taken the precaution of filling his loincloth with sawdust before giving his report to Macro. He thanked Asclepius for this foresight as he helplessly pissed himself with nerves before the Prefect had even spoken a word to him.

'The "herbs" the Emperor has been ingesting to hide his returned dependence upon the flower will reach a critical amount,' the physician said.

'About time,' said Macro. He despised the Greek.

'He will then begin his final decline.'

'How long?'

Charicles shifted uncomfortably and a little shower of sawdust fell to his feet. 'I am reluctant to provide specifics of time, Prefect.'

'How long?' Macro repeated, slamming his fist on the table.

Charicles cleared his throat. 'A year. Perhaps a little more.'

'The gods help me,' Macro groaned. He hated the eternal waiting, but what choice did he have?

Dismissing the physician, Macro strode out of the villa looking for Tiberius, seeking any sign that the old man might be showing of the herbs' destruction. He spied the Emperor and Antonia seated together on a stone bench on the far terrace, looking out to sea.

'For all the world a pair of decrepit, star-crossed lovers,' Macro sneered to himself.

As if Macro's words were portentous, the Emperor leaned across and kissed the matron's lips. Antonia looked as startled as Macro. Tiberius cringed with embarrassment at his spontaneous act, searching for words of apology just as Antonia recovered herself and kissed Tiberius of her own accord. The Emperor beamed.

Shuddering, Macro left them to it.

As he neared the villa again, Macro passed Little Boots and Aemilius, lounging in abject boredom upon the grass. He noted the Emperor's grandson was sitting on the cushion as usual and bit back his fury. He knew Livia was right. Until the boy understood the true meaning of the present, its gains would be hopelessly lost on him.

When Macro had gone, Little Boots got off the cushion. He stood staring at the embroidered words, reading them over in his head for the thousandth time. 'I sit… I sit… I sit.'

'What are you doing?' said Aemilius.

Little Boots picked up the cushion and moved across the lawns towards the terrace where Tiberius sat on the stone bench with Antonia.

Aemilius felt inexplicably alarmed. 'Wait. Little Boots — '

Tiberius was startled to turn and see the young man standing behind him with the cushion held out. Little Boots smiled the smile of the perfect grandson. 'That stone bench looks hard, Grandfather.'

'Yes,' said Tiberius.

'I thought you might like my cushion to sit on — it's very comfortable.'

There was a brief moment where the Emperor held the young man's gaze. Then Tiberius accepted the gift. 'Thank you, Grandson,' he said, slipping the cushion beneath himself. He and Antonia continued to sit, now hand in hand.

Little Boots returned to Aemilius and sat on the bare grass.

'You gave it to him?'

Little Boots nodded.

'So what, then? You understand what it's all about now?'

Little Boots despaired. 'I don't know why I gave it to him, Aemilius. Macro walked past us and the idea just came in to my head.'

'Now you've lost the stupid thing,' Aemilius admonished him. 'And don't think you'll ever get it back.'

'I thought it would reveal something to me,' said Little Boots in frustration, 'but it failed. I know nothing of what my great-grandmother meant by her accursed gift and I never will.'

Terminalia

February, AD 37

Twenty months later: a fire devastates the Aventine Hill and adjacent parts of the Circus Maximus

Antonia prayed fervently at the makeshift shrine. 'Restore his health, Asclepius, I beg you. Keep him from death. Keep him from death.'

Drusilla and Julilla went through the motions, repeating their grandmother's words to please her. 'Restore his health, Asclepius. Keep him from death. Keep him from death.'

Antonia turned to them. 'He ignores us. The god of medicine gives us nothing, girls.' She began to cry.

'No, no,' said Drusilla, shuffling awkwardly on her knees towards her. She signalled Julilla to find a handkerchief. 'We cannot read the god's mind, Grandmother. Asclepius will listen to our prayers. Have faith.'

'He won't. He ignores us,' said Antonia, bitterly. Julilla passed her a grubby rag. 'And it is the Emperor's own fault. His years of depravity have led him to this. Asclepius knows it's deserved.'

The sisters looked at each other. 'Perhaps if we sacrifice again?' Julilla suggested, uncomfortable with her grandmother's tears.

Drusilla seized on this. 'Yes, another bull, a pure white one. We'll get the ship to bring it from Rome.'

Antonia looked up sharply. 'No one in Rome must know of the Emperor's illness.'

'But isn't it right they should know?' said Drusilla. 'Perhaps this is why the god doesn't hear? Not enough prayers are being said for our grandfather.'

Antonia was adamant. 'No one. The secret stays here.'

The sisters made to leave the shrine room. 'I shall get another piglet from the pens, then,' Drusilla said. 'We can sacrifice that to Asclepius. It cannot hurt.'

Antonia waved them away, returning to her prayers.

Outside, Drusilla gave her own thoughts on why Rome was forbidden to know. 'Everyone hates him,' she whispered. 'Our grandmother fears people would pray for his death, not his recovery.'

Julilla had a wicked look in her eye. 'That's what I've been praying for!'

'Julilla!' said Drusilla, mortified. Then she took on a look to match her sister's. 'Me too.' Giggling, they went off in search of a piglet, intending to take their time about it. But Drusilla couldn't help a vague apprehension as she went. If their grandfather died, she wondered, wouldn't the Eastern flower die with him? How would she obtain it by other means?

Inside the shrine room Antonia abandoned formal prayers to appeal personally to the god. 'I saved Rome from the threat of those who coveted the throne, Asclepius,' she whispered, 'and now it is threatened again. Please, god, save Tiberius for Rome. He has not named his heir. We will descend into civil war and anarchy again, just as Augustus always said we would without a succession in place.'

The scented oil lamps burned around the god's image. 'I feel so helpless and alone,' Antonia wept. 'Send me a friend to guide me in what to do — send someone whose wisdom in these matters is far greater than my own.'

She heard footsteps at the door and presumed the sisters had returned. She tried to pull herself together. 'The pig cannot help us, girls. I am sorry,' she said. 'Take the poor thing back to the pens.'

'Asclepius is such a fickle god,' said Livia from the door, 'but over the years I've found he has a soft spot for me.'

Antonia's tears vanished in her astonishment. 'Oh, my dear friend!' She rushed to embrace her. 'My prayers have been answered.'

'It was well time I made a visit to Capri,' said Livia.

Antonia's eyes opened over Livia's shoulder and settled briefly on me.

'But what are you praying for?' asked Livia. 'Has something happened?'

'Oh, Livia, my friend, the most terrible thing,' said Antonia, the tears returning again.

As though she were innocent in the extreme, Livia settled down to be informed of Tiberius's grave ill health, giving a masterful performance of a mother's breaking heart.

Shivering in his bed, Tiberius relived the only moment from his long life that Postverta, that capricious goddess of the past, would grant him. No other memories were permitted. It was this, the goddess told him, and this moment alone.

All around him were flames. The long dry grasses, the olive trees, the Grecian villa — all were on fire, and Tiberius, his mother and his father fled in an ox-drawn carruca from the blaze. Cinders from the villa's roof landed on the loaded carriage and it burned too, becoming a roaring siege tower. Baby Tiberius screamed in his mother's arms.

'Throw me little Tiberius!' the slave-girl Hebe shouted from the ground. 'I can save him!'

Seeing no other rescue, his mother pitched him from the carruca high into the smoke. Hebe snatched him from the sky just as his mother threw herself from the carriage.

'Tiberius Nero!' his mother cried blindly, desperately scanning the inferno for his father. There was no sign. She ran through the blaze, the little slave-girl beside her and Tiberius clutched tight in her arms. They reached a little brook and she saw that his flesh was steaming. His mother plunged him into the water. 'This is not how you end, my son,' she vowed. 'I won't let it be like this.'

The baby Tiberius gasped with shock, springing from his death sleep. His mother sang with relief. He looked into her eyes and saw an extraordinary sight. She was smiling at him with love while her hair was alive with flames.

The past became the present. Tiberius opened his eyes to see an identical image: Livia smiling above him, her hair ablaze like the sun.

'You saved me, Mother,' he whispered.

'I did,' said Livia. 'And now you must save Rome.'

'Save Rome? Is it in peril?'

Livia nodded, slipping a pen into his hand. 'Rome needs you, my son.'

'How?' Tiberius rasped. 'What must I do?'

My domina guided his wrist towards a sheet of papyrus. 'You must name your successor.'

The words the papyrus contained were a blur to Tiberius. 'Castor?' he asked. 'Has my son come back to me again?'

Livia shook her head.

'It is Nero, then? Or is it Drusus, Mother?'

Livia looked away wistfully.

'Who, then?' croaked Tiberius. 'Tell me whose name it should be..'

She bent to where he lay and kissed his cheek. Then she whispered the name in his ear. Tiberius stared at her and Livia nodded reassuringly, giving him the strength to scrawl the unlikely name upon the papyrus sheet. As she helped him press his seal into the warm wax, his ring slipped from his finger to the floor. She let it stay there. Tiberius tried to cover his eyes against the glow of her flames. 'It burns,' he whispered. 'It's burning, Mother.'

'Here, son,' she said, soothingly. She handed him a cushion from his bed. 'Place this across your eyes to shade them.'

Tiberius covered his face with the cushion. 'Thank you, Mother.'

As my domina crept from Tiberius's room, she saw her great-grandson hovering in the shadows.

'Ah, Little Boots,' she murmured. 'The Emperor has called for you. There is something he wishes to tell you.'

Little Boots was fearful. 'What is it?'

Livia slipped away into the gloom without answering him.

He stood outside the sleeping chamber for a long time. No sound came from within. Steeling himself, Little Boots pushed open the door. The air that emerged was foul with sickness, and Little Boots gagged. In the shadows cast by a single oil lamp, he could see no sign of his grandfather. The bed appeared empty.

Little Boots's bare foot stepped on something sharp. He looked down to see the glint of the Imperial ring. Amazed, Little Boots stooped to pick it up. Then the magnitude of what it was struck him. This seal held life and death. A man could be saved by its imprint, or condemned. The Divine Augustus had worn the ring, and before him the Divine Julius Caesar. The ring conferred the powers of a god.

Staring at the hallowed eagle seal, Little Boots felt a compulsion seize him. He knew it was wrong — that to give in to it would be an offence to Fate — but the pull was too great. Little Boots slipped the ring of the Caesars upon the third finger of his right hand — the finger that led to his heart. A white-hot surge of divine supremacy flushed through his veins. His limb began to swell. The dulled, scratched gold bit into his flesh. The fit was ideal. It pleasured his hand. The ring belonged there.

Little Boots saw the sheet of papyrus on the table where the oil lamp burned. He saw the words. The power of the ring made them fly out at him. It was Tiberius's will, and he, Little Boots, was named as successor.

Tiberius stirred beneath the linens and Little Boots dropped the papyrus in fright. The cushion slid from the old man's face and he saw the ring on Little Boots's finger. He felt for his own hands beneath the sheets and knew what was missing.

'Take it off.'

'Grandfather — '

'Take it off. That's mine.'

Little Boots tried to loosen it but the band bit deeper into his flesh. 'It's stuck.'

'Take it off, I said — give it to me!'

Little Boots tugged at the ring, sticking his finger into his mouth to grip it with his teeth. 'It's stuck, Grandfather — I can't budge it,' he said, white-faced.

Tiberius saw the papyrus on the floor and remembered. 'You little turd, you think you're Emperor already!'

'No — I only put the ring on by accident.'

'You saw my will — you saw what was there. You want me dead!'

'No! That's not how it was.'

Enraged, Tiberius tried to sit up. 'I'll change it — I'll strike off your name. You're a thief!' Tiberius screamed. 'Antonia! Antonia!' he called to the rooms outside. 'Come in here now and see your grandson, the thief!'

Panicking, Little Boots snatched up the cushion that had covered Tiberius's face and tried to replace it there. 'Be quiet!' he hissed, terrified of what Antonia would do if she heard him. 'Just be quiet and go back to sleep.'

'Thief!' Tiberius slapped and struggled against him. 'My ring!'

Little Boots saw with shock that the cushion was his own. Sedeo. Suddenly, the word seemed both a command and a premonition. Little Boots pressed it harder on Tiberius's face. 'Shut up,' he hissed. 'Shut up and stay in your bed!'

The old man squirmed and raged beneath the bed clothes.

Little Boots climbed onto the bed and placed his whole body upon the cushion, straddling the Emperor's covered head between his knees. 'Just stop it, will you! Stop it! Stop it! Go to fucking sleep!'

Tiberius fell still.

I let myself into the room as Little Boots lifted the cushion again. The Emperor's eyes were open, staring unblinking at the smoke-stained ceiling. A string of spittle dripped from his mouth.

The lovely voice of the goddess whispered in our ears: ' When tiny shoes a cushion brings, the cuckoo's king rewarded.'

I chuckled. 'Tiberius was well rewarded indeed by your cushion, Little Boots.'

He stared in awe. 'Is this what will make me a god?' he whispered.

'One step at a time,' I smiled.

Matronalia

March, AD 37

One week later: the new Emperor, Gaius Julius Caesar Augustus Germanicus, known to all as Caligula, escorts his grandfather's corpse to Rome

Borrowing from his late mother's theatrics, Little Boots, dressed in mourning garb, accompanied Tiberius's body on its journey from Capri to Rome. Aemilius was by his side, and Little Boots played the occasion as a triumph more than a funeral procession. Crowds thronged to cheer along the Via Appia, holding blazing torches before him and making sacrifices. They called out pet names like 'star' and 'chick' and 'baby', and it was much remarked that crowds of such a size hadn't been seen since Little Boots's father's triumph upon his return from Germany. To the people Little Boots was almost an unknown, but as Germanicus's son he was invested with all his father's qualities. He wore his father's crown.

At Oxheads the remaining members of the Imperial family prepared to journey to the Capena Gate to greet Little Boots's procession as it arrived in Rome. Claudius was among them, as were dead Livilla's children, Tiberia and Gemellus. Nilla made her way towards them through the throng, looking for the Imperial litter that would let her see her brother again after so many years.

'What pride I feel at the day's events,' my domina purred behind her.

Nilla turned sharply and stiffened. 'My brother's ascension must be a special day for you indeed, Great-grandmother,' she said flatly.

'What? Oh, that,' said Livia.

Standing behind her, I had to smile.

'Well, I suppose it is, for now,' said Livia, 'but that's not what I meant.'

Nilla turned away, unwilling to play her great-grandmother's games. But Livia leaned into her ear. 'Little Boots's rule will bring shame upon Rome, and far worse.'

Nilla refused to look at her.

'Do I shock you?'

'You disgust me.'

Livia tittered. 'All my life I have schemed, believing it my destiny to be the mother of four great kings, Nilla, and all my life I was wrong. The kings will not be great in any way, and it is not in them that my destiny lies. It is in you, Nilla. You are my true destiny and my legacy, too.'

If she expected awe or even gratitude, she didn't get it. The look Nilla gave her was angry and contemptuous. 'What legacy? Ruined lives? Murdered innocents? You killed anyone who might stop you.'

Livia didn't disagree. 'Fate demands such measures in order to take us where we must be — to take you, Nilla, just as it has taken me. The men of Rome will believe there is a man in power — Little Boots at first, and then the next two kings — but the women of Rome will guess the truth. The kings are puppets. It is a queen who will rule. And that queen is you.'

Nilla spat in her great-grandmother's face. 'I reject it.'

About to step into his litter, Claudius saw this and went white. He hid himself inside.

'I want nothing of what you schemed your life away for,' Nilla said. 'I despise everything about it.'

Livia shrugged and smiled, letting the spit drip from her cheek. 'You will want it in time,' she said. Her own litter had arrived. 'You will want what I have wanted — and desperately. And you will gain it, too, Nilla. You will become me.'

'I won't,' Nilla hissed. 'I will never be anything like you. You are evil.'

But Livia only chuckled as she stepped into her transport. I caught the look on her face for a moment as she adjusted herself, and it was clear she was tired. I tucked her up against the cold.

'To the Capena Gate, domina?' I whispered.

'Good gods, no. With all those stinking crowds? Little Boots can see himself into Rome — I won't be there to fawn on him.'

I laughed. 'Where, then, domina?'

She was vague. 'Perhaps a quiet path along the Tiber…'

I turned to see Nilla step into her own transport and go. If only she knew of the plans I had already made to become indispensible to her.

Livia pinned her veil, ready to drift off to Somnus in the litter. I instructed the lictors to clear the way and took up my walking position alongside, where I could see my domina if she needed me. The litter was picked up by the bearers, and the sounds of exulting Romans began to echo in our ears as Little Boots neared the distant gate. I glanced at Livia through the litter's curtain to see if she was taking even the smallest pride in his day of days. But I was struck by a sudden change in her features. Her face seemed to be shimmering — her skin had become a milky mist, dispersing into the air.

' Domina?'

'Is something wrong?' she asked me, stirring.

Livia was transforming before my eyes. 'No, domina,' I whispered. Her features had vanished. She was left with nothing but bright, white bones.

'Then let me lie here undisturbed,' she murmured. 'I am enjoying my view of Rome.'

I did not stare — I knew better than that. But I kept her face in the corner of my vision as I walked beside her down the Palatine Hill. Only her eyes remained unchanged. Onyx black, they stared ahead, seductive and deadly, a viper's eyes.

Two glittering stars in a fathomless, infinite night.