David Wishart - Sejanus

'Servants' quarters are in the south wing,' said the major-domo who met us in the colonnaded portico when we reached the top. 'You'll be escorted. Rooms have been assigned. Keep to the designated areas unless you have specific duties elsewhere.' He didn't say what would happen if we were stupid enough to go walkabout, and no one asked. That was another thing that was understood. The sea was a long way down.

'The master has arranged for us to share, sir,' Felix murmured. 'We thought it safest. I hope you don't mind.'

'So long as you don't talk in your sleep, pal,' I said. Better than bunking down with the head chef, anyway. I may have owed the guy, but gratitude only goes so far.

'Of course not!' Felix looked like I'd impugned him professionally; but then again maybe I had. 'In any case it should only be for a few days. We'll be moving to one of the other villas shortly.'

I tagged along with the others to the servants' quarters. Being entourage rather than skivvies we shared cubicles rather than dormitories, opening onto a corridor that ran the length of the villa. They weren't so bad. You might not be able to swing even a short cat too confidently and finding space for a portable library might be tricky, but there was a truckle bed each and a shelf for your spare tunic. In Felix's case I'd make that six spare tunics, each one brighter than the last.

From a house on the Palatine to a tenement flat to this. And not a wine jug in sight. Ah, well, there was a moral here somewhere. And it was what I got for mixing with politics.

At least my time would be my own. Before we left we'd agreed, Gaius and me, on how we were going to play this. No contact, absolutely none. He'd break the ground gradually with Tiberius and send for me when he reckoned the Wart was ready. There was sense in that: I'd only get one shot at it, and if I tried playing a lone game and walking off the boat straight into the old bugger's best sitting room I'd be fish-food quicker than I could spit. So now it was up to goat-face. I didn't like that more than half, but so long as our interests coincided I thought he would play fair. My worry was that eventually they wouldn't.

Blowing the whistle on Sejanus, however, could wait. First things first. After three hours on a pitching ship my bladder was bursting.

'Hey, Felix,' I said. 'You happen to know where the lavatory is in this maze?'

The little guy was stowing his kit. Six tunics had been on the conservative side: I counted eight, with matching belts.

'No, sir,' he said. 'But I would try further along the corridor.'

'You plan on wearing all of these, by the way?' I said.

He frowned. 'All of what, sir?'

'The tunics.'

'Just because I'm a slave it doesn't mean I have to be scruffy.' He eyed my own tunic and sniffed.

'Uh, yeah,' I said. 'Yeah, I suppose not. Catch you later.'

He didn't answer. I went outside and turned left, looking for relief. Like I say, we'd got a string of cubicles together along the south wall of the wing. The lavatory would be at the end, where the drains could take the effluent straight over the cliff edge.

I found it, just beyond the baths: I could murder a bath, but it could wait. There was another guy on the beams, using the sponge: a broad-built guy with spiky straw-coloured hair and an unshaven chin. I nodded to him and undid my belt. His eyes widened, just for an instant. Then he nodded back, finished quickly and left without a word.

I stood staring after him, bladder forgotten and mind numb. Not for the reason you might think, especially in this den of depravity (if you believed half the rumours at Rome): he'd been looking at my face. I hadn't recognised him, but he'd known me. Sure he had, even under the beard and travel-stains. So much for subterfuge. Less than an hour on Capri and I'd been rumbled.

'He recognised you, sir?' Felix looked concerned when I told him, as well he might; personally I was worried as hell. 'You're sure about that? Absolutely sure?'

'Yeah.' I stretched out on my cot. 'It wasn't mutual, though. Maybe we have run across each other in the past, but not recently.'

'Perhaps he mistook you for someone else.'

'Come on, Felix!' I glanced sideways at him. 'Do you believe that? The guy shot off the beam so fast he took the sponge with him. And not in his hand, either. My explanation is that he'd just seen a disguised purple-striper named Marcus Valerius Corvinus relieving himself in a slaves' privy on the emperor's personal island and couldn't wait to pass the news on. What's yours?' I waited; no answer. 'Exactly.'

'I'll make enquiries,' Felix said.

'Screw your enquiries! I don't care who he is. The question is, who would he tell? Because if he goes to the officer commanding the guard then I might as well start running now.'

Felix sighed. 'You wouldn't get five yards, sir,' he said. 'And that would certainly give you away.'

'Congratulations. You've just won the prize for stating the obvious.' I sat up and hit the bed-frame so hard with my clenched fist that I heard the wood crack. 'Of all the things to go wrong! An accident! A pure fluke!'

'You don't know for certain yet that things have gone wrong,' Felix said calmly. 'If they have, they have, but acting on that assumption makes no sense at all, and it's the most dangerous course you could take. Sir.'

'And I thought your pal Lamprus was the philosopher of the bunch.' I stood up. 'Hell, I can't sleep, and I don't want to argue. I'm going outside for some fresh air.'

'It's forbidden.' His voice sharpened. 'There's a dusk-to-dawn curfew. You know that.'

'I'll risk it.' I turned to him. 'Or do you want to try stopping me?'

He sighed again and ducked his head. 'No, sir,' he said. 'Of course not. But if I may say so you're being very, very foolish.'

'Yeah, well. It's better than lying here waiting for the Praetorians. And if I'm going to die I'd rather it was in the open.'

'Now you're being melodramatic as well as foolish.'

I grinned. 'Yeah. I suppose you're right. About that and everything else. But I still need that fresh air. I'll see you later, okay?'

Felix snuffed the lamp. 'I hope so,' he said. 'I really do hope so.'

I walked along the line of cubicles towards the lavatory: there'd been a door next to it, I'd noticed, leading outside.

I found it. The door was unlocked, and it gave out onto a strip of ground between the buildings and a low wall beyond; nothing special, no garden, not in this part of the villa, just plain tussocky grass and stones. It was a beautiful night, windless and almost clear as day with a full moon and stars. I could see the mainland in the distance, black on grey. Down below and to the left a fire burned: a beacon, probably, guiding ships bound for Puteoli away from the rocks and through the straits. A bird flew past, or maybe it was a bat, a fast black dot. Back in the Subura Perilla would be in bed by now and the carts would be starting up.

One difference between Rome and Capri at night was the quiet. You could just stand still and listen and be sure of hearing absolutely nothing moving for miles…

The footsteps were coming softly from behind. I turned, and the guy took the last few yards at a run. Instinctively my hand went for the knife I kept strapped to my forearm, but of course it wasn't there: get caught with a weapon, any weapon, on Tiberius's private island and you wouldn't have the chance to open your mouth, let alone use it, before someone shut it for good. Anyway, I was too late and his hands were already closing round my throat.

Jupiter, he was strong! From our short acquaintance in the privy I'd known he was heavily-built. Now I could feel it was all hard muscle. I brought my own hands up to break his grip and tried to twist away, but I wasn't used to this rough stuff any more and his knee drove itself into my belly, leaving me gasping. Trying to gasp. I'd lost what air I'd had in my lungs within the first few seconds, and his thumbs pressed into my windpipe were making sure I didn't get a fresh supply. I felt myself lifted, pushed back against the rough masonry of the wall, and the stars began to flicker and go out…