David Wishart - Sejanus

'I'll take your things upstairs anyway, mistress,' Brito said. 'You'll be all right while I'm gone?'

'Oh, yes.' For the first time the girl tried a smile. 'Yes. Perfectly. Thank you.'

The maid left with Bathyllus. I poured myself a cup of Setinian from the jug he'd brought with the honeyed wine and sat down on my usual couch. Perilla took the chair next to me.

'How long have you had Diana?' she asked.

'Only about two months. My last sparrow died. That was Sophocles, he was a male and I'd had him almost a year. Brito gave me Diana. She bought her in the market.' The girl paused. 'Perilla, what are you and Valerius Corvinus going to do with me?'

The words had come out in a rush. Perilla waited a moment and then said: 'There's a very nice old lady called Marcia. She has a villa in the hills, and she's very fond of birds and children. She would be very glad to have you, for as long as you wanted to stay with her.'

'She wouldn't mind that I've…' She made a slight movement with her hand. 'I mean that I'm not…'

'No, dear,' Perilla said gently. 'She wouldn't mind that at all.'

Jupiter, I'd get that bastard the Rock if it was the last thing I did! 'You have any family in Spain, Marilla?' I said. 'Someone we could get in touch with?'

She hesitated. 'An uncle. Father's brother. I don't like him much.'

'Anyone else?'

'No. There's no one else.'

Uh-huh. Well, scratch that one. I took a swallow of wine. We couldn't've risked contacting the uncle straight away in any case, but it would've been nice to know he was waiting in the wings. As it was, this looked like being a tough one. 'Never mind, princess,' I said. 'It doesn't matter. And don't worry, we're not going to hand you over anywhere you don't want to go.'

I could feel the tension go out of her, but she said nothing and sipped her hot drink. Then, suddenly, she yawned and covered her mouth, almost spilling the wine. Perilla reached forward and gently took the cup from her.

'I'm sorry,' Marilla said. 'I think I may be tired after all. Do you think I could go to bed now?'

'Of course.' Perilla was smiling. 'I'll show you where it is.'

Marilla stood up to follow her, swaying slightly. Yeah, well, the poor kid had had an exciting evening, and the hot wine on top of it had obviously finished her off.

'Sleep tight,' I said.

'Thank you, Valerius Corvinus.' She smiled. 'I was right, wasn't I? Despite what Perilla said in the litter?'

'Yeah? Right about what?'

'You do have a nice face.'

Perilla snorted, and I grinned. 'The best,' I said. 'I'll see you in the morning.'

'Mmm.' She paused, her hand on the banister. 'Oh, I almost forgot, and it's important. Very important. I promised myself I'd tell you if I got the chance, because you looked like you'd care.'

'Care about what?'

'It's my father. He's planning to murder the emperor.'

Jupiter! That was an exit line, if I'd ever heard one; but the kid was dead on her feet and it could wait till morning. I didn't sleep much that night, though. Nor did Perilla, although for different reasons. I felt her getting up two or three times — quietly, so as not to disturb me — and heard her padding off along the corridor towards the west wing: there's a squeaky board that way, and you can always tell. Marilla must've been tidily asleep, because she came straight back.

I didn't raise the subject over breakfast, either, because the lady would've had my head. Marilla would tell me in her own time, no doubt, and then we'd decide what to do about it. The kid was looking a lot better this morning, anyway; brighter, and a more healthy colour. She could pack it away, too; I had to send Bathyllus off for a second cheese omelette and more bread rolls.

I'd left the two of them alone and gone out to sit in the garden. It was an hour later when she finally came through, and she'd got her grown-up face on.

'Valerius Corvinus?' she said.

'Hi, princess. Everything okay?'

'Yes. Yes, thank you.' She lowered her eyes. 'But I'd like to talk to you, please. About my father. And about what I said last night.'

'Pull up a chair.' It was another beautiful spring day, and the flowers were out. Marcia's garden in the Alban Hills would be nice, now, as well.

She sat down. 'Do you mind if I start at the beginning?'

'Start any place you like. But don't feel you have to tell me everything, okay?'

'No, that's all right.' Her eyes were still lowered. 'It doesn't only concern me.'

I waited. Finally, she said: 'My father's mad. You know that, don't you?'

'Uh, yeah…well…' That was putting it mildly, but I couldn't exactly say so.

'He hates Rome. He hates Romans. Everything you've done, everything you are, everything you stand for. He told you, that day you came, that he had Carthaginian blood?'

'Yeah.'

'He's very proud of that. In fact, it's more important to him than anything else.' She paused. 'Except for me, of course. I was his Ta'anit-pene-Ba'al, his Face of the Lord. But you know that already, don't you?'

I said nothing. She'd taken on that peaky, inward, too-old-for-her-years look she'd had the night before.

'Did he tell you the myth of Keret?' She still wasn't looking at me.

'Uh, yeah. He mentioned it, anyway.' I remembered the slab we'd been discussing when she'd come in: the old Phoenician carving showing a guy in a kilt carrying a knife.

'Do you remember it?'

'No. Not the details.'

'Keret was the king of Sidon, the mortal son of the Great God El. His kingdom was attacked by the forces of the moon-god Terah. Keret tried to resist, but the moon-god's forces were too powerful for him, and he was defeated and his kingdom occupied. On El's orders he took a wife. He had a son by her: a magical son who sprang from her womb crying: "I hate the enemy!" And the son drove the moon-god's forces from the kingdom.'

She'd recited it like she'd learned the thing by heart. Probably she had. A magical son, to drive the enemy from the kingdom. Sure. That made sense. And I could hear Marius now, talking about his daughter: 'She will breed perfect sons. Marvellous sons. Magical sons…'

'Uh huh,' I said slowly. 'I understand. You don't have to say any more.'

'It's all right.' Her fingers were picking at a stray thread in her tunic, and I noticed that the nails were bitten to the quick. 'There's a…special magical potency about a child got in incest. Or so Father thinks.' She finally looked up, and her eyes weren't those of a child now. 'He had his reasons, you see.'

'Yeah. I see.' I did: Jupiter, the poor kid! She was right, the bastard was mad. Barking mad. He'd wanted to breed the Messiah from his own daughter in the belief that by doing it he'd throw us out of Spain. Africa. Wherever.

Marilla was still picking at the thread. 'That was for the future,' she said. 'In the meantime he worked against Rome in any way he could. I don't know the details but he used to tell me bits of it. He wanted me to be proud, you see.' Her voice was bitter, and not young at all. 'He said he'd make you tear yourselves apart.'

Yeah. And that's what we'd done. That's what we were still doing. We'd been doing it for years.

'You have any names?' I asked gently. 'Names or faces? Of people your father's involved with?'

'No.' She shook her head. 'Not many, anyway. In Spain there was a man called Seius Quadratus. An ex-slave, I think. He used to visit my father quite often. I called him Uncle Seius because he asked me to, but I didn't like him. He touched me.'

I whistled silently. I'd never heard of the guy himself, but with that name he'd be a freedman of Tubero's. So. I'd got my link at the Spanish end. 'Anyone else?'

'Not in Spain. There were others but I can't remember them. I was too young.'