David Wishart - Sejanus

Ten minutes and two pages of undirected waffle later, there was still complete silence: understandable, because when a letter from the emperor is being read out even a cough in the wrong place can be misinterpreted, and broad-stripers learn early to yawn with their mouths closed. I had to hand it to Tiberius. He knew his audience, and he'd managed this brilliantly; the Praetorians would be half-way back to camp by now and their place taken by the troops from the Urban Cohort, while Sejanus still grinned on his bench like a happy tomcat. Even as the first jarring notes crept in no one looked especially concerned; it was only when they began to pile up one on another and squeeze out the waffle that the shuffling and throat-clearing started. Sejanus's smile began to slip, and it went on slipping.

He was grey as death when, a full half hour into the session, Tiberius finally put the knife in.

'"I am informed, conscript fathers,"' Regulus read in his bland lawyer's voice, '"that without my knowledge acts have been performed in my name contrary to the laws and the well-being of the state. Innocent men have been falsely brought to trial and condemned, plots against my kindred fomented, and power devolved by me in all good faith grossly and callously abused. It is therefore my will and command that the instigator of these acts, my erstwhile representative Lucius Aelius Sejanus, be placed at once under restraint and confined to the Mamertine prison until his crimes can be properly investigated and punished."'

Regulus lowered the letter and turned to Sejanus. The coughing and shuffling had stopped, and the silence was absolute.

'Lucius Aelius Sejanus,' he said. 'You heard the emperor's instructions.'

Sejanus didn't move, except to run his tongue over his lips. His face was a mask. The main doors opened and Laco, the Urban Cohort commander, came in with four of his men. He stood silently by the door jamb, his hand on his sword-hilt and his eyes on the consul, waiting for further orders.

'Aelius Sejanus,' Regulus said again. 'You will come here, please.'

Sejanus was shaking his head slowly from side to side as if to clear it. The senators next to him were edging away.

'Sejanus.' Regulus raised his voice; not that it was necessary, you could've heard a pin drop. 'Did you hear what I said?'

The guy was on his own now, the bench he was sitting on empty for two clear yards either way.

'Me?' he whispered, and I could hear the incredulity in his voice even across twenty tiers. 'No, not me. It's a mistake, some mistake. You don't want me .'

Regulus made a sign, and Laco stepped forward.

'Take him,' the consul said.

The silence broke. As the soldiers gripped Sejanus's arms and pulled him to his feet the House erupted. Below me an elderly senator suddenly screamed: 'Give him the Hook! Give him the Hook!' Spittle flew from his mouth and hit the bald head of the man in front. Sejanus lifted his eyes, but he was beyond seeing, and if the two guards hadn't been holding him up I'd swear he would've fallen. Beside me, one of the oldsters stirred in his sleep and shouted: 'I agree!' Jupiter knew what he thought he was voting for, but it didn't matter anyway, and I'd had enough. The show was over, and Rome's august senate could manage things by themselves now. I left before I threw up on the hallowed benches.

Later in the day the senate reconvened and sentenced him formally to death. Against the Wart's own instructions, and his rule that stipulated a three-day interval between sentence and execution, Sejanus was strangled by the public executioner before sunset and his body dragged down the Gemonian Stairs with a hook in its gullet. I wasn't there, then or later when the celebrations started in earnest. I reckoned I'd played my part already.

I was lucky: the house in Poplicolan Street had been sequestrated when I'd been charged with treason, but it hadn't been sold or even had the contents auctioned, and with the Wart's formal pardon tucked into my mantle-fold I could move in straight away. Bathyllus and Meton, too. Maybe it would've been easier to have stayed in the Suburan flat for a few days, but I couldn't do that to the poor guy. He'd suffered enough, and he was pining for his set of matching skillets.

I spent the time catching up. Lippillus was back at work, and now his hair had grown to cover the scars he was ugly as ever. We split a jar of my best Falernian while I filled him in on what he'd missed, and I even got a smile from Marcina. Agron's wife had had a baby girl while I was on Capri, and the big guy was over the moon. When Perilla got back on the twenty-third we went down to Ostia together and the kid was sick all over her best mantle. She didn't seem to mind. Yeah, well. At least Agron had the sense this time to keep his mouth shut. His wife had probably had a word with him before we arrived.

Otherwise I didn't go out much. They were pulling down Sejanus's statues and hacking his name off monuments all over Rome, and that I didn't want to see if I could avoid it. The bastard was dead and burned; killing him again in effigy just seemed pointless and spiteful. I thought a lot about Livia, too. Sure, she'd've been pleased we'd won in the end, but I wondered if she'd known about Gaius. Probably, almost certainly; but then the old girl was no Tiberius, she was more of an Agrippina. Livia was a cold bitch, but she also had the capacity for personal hate, whether she recognised it in herself or not. And what better way to destroy the reputation of the Julians forever than to make their last representative emperor and have him do it for her?

I didn't want to think about Gaius. I didn't want to think about him at all, or about what the future held. I certainly didn't want to see him again. Maybe Thrasyllus was wrong, but the cold finger at the base of my skull told me otherwise. Six years from now Rome wasn't going to be a pleasant place to live.

We were just finishing lunch, Perilla and I, when Bathyllus came into the dining room to say we had a visitor.

It was Lamia. I was surprised he was still alive, let alone mobile. The guy was a walking skeleton, and his hand when I shook it felt like a thin gloveful of bones. He had the look of his namesake, the witch who sucks children's blood in the stories.

'My congratulations, Corvinus,' he whispered: his voice was almost gone, now, too. 'Arruntius's also, although he's out of Rome at present. I'm sorry, I should have come before. Perilla, my dear. Delighted to see you again.'

I had Bathyllus manoeuvre him onto a couch and help him lie. Beside the dining table he looked like a full-sized version of these silver reminders of death that cheerier guests sometimes dangle at parties.

'Some wine for the governor, Bathyllus,' I said.

'No. No wine. The doctor forbids it. And soon no longer governor, either, even in absentia.' Lamia bared his teeth in a rictus grin. 'The emperor is doing me the honour of appointing me City Prefect. Although I doubt if I'll live to take up office.'

I didn't say anything, nor did Perilla. Even polite noises would've been out of place.

'Well. To the purpose of my visit.' Lamia coughed: the sound was hollow. 'Besides conveying the congratulations and thanks of my colleagues, naturally. I came to tell you the news, if you haven't heard it already.'

'What news?'

'Livilla is dead. Suicide.' He made a vague gesture with his hand. 'At least the official version is suicide. She poisoned herself, I understand, leaving a note for the emperor. An apology and — so it is said — a confession of some kind?' The question was in his voice and his eyes.

There was no reason not to tell him. He'd know soon enough, anyway.

'She and Sejanus murdered Tiberius's son,' I said.

'Ah.' He nodded. 'Yes, that would explain things.' He didn't sound too surprised, but then maybe nothing did surprise a man who was dying slowly himself. 'How was it done?'