David Wishart - Nero

Silia, the powdering and general titillation over, removed the dust-sheet and read through the letter again. 'It seems an innocent enough request, anyway,' she said.

'Oh, my dear! So, no doubt, did Caligula's.' I took the scroll from her, rolled it up firmly and tucked it into the fold in my mantle. 'And like his requests it may well be the prelude to a throat-cutting.'

'Don't over-dramatise, Titus! Why on earth should Lucius want to cut your throat? It's not as if you're anyone important.'

'Thank you. That makes me feel much better.'

'Well, you know what I mean, darling.' She hesitated. 'Will you go?'

'Do I have any choice?'

She bent over and kissed me quickly on the chin.

'Not really,' she said softly. 'But behave yourself, won't you? And don't say anything silly.'

The interview wasn't at all what I expected. Whatever that might have been.

The slave showed me, not into the formal audience chamber, but into a room of the imperial suite which bore all the signs of being a private sanctum. Scattered around was a magpie's collection of bits and pieces from every branch of the arts: tools, brushes, half-completed projects abandoned and buried under later efforts. There was even a mosaic-layer's frame, with half the pieces missing. Lucius was standing at the central table talking to a fat Syrian; I recognised Argyrio, the Saepta jeweller. The emperor looked up and saw me, and his face broke into a broad smile.

'Titus!' He hurried towards me with arms outstretched. 'So good of you to come, my dear!'

'Sir.' I allowed myself to be enfolded. He was wearing a long-sleeved Greek tunic even more ornate, if anything, than the one I'd seen him in before, and he reeked of expensive perfume.

'You know Argyrio, don't you?' The Syrian bowed, his curled ringlets spilling over his eyes. 'Of course you do, who doesn't? Argyrio, show Titus the necklaces!'

The fat jeweller stepped aside. On the table lay three huge necklaces of gold and precious stones, any one of which would've cost me half my year's income.

'Titus, I want your advice.' The emperor was still hugging my shoulders. His breath smelt of cassia. 'Tell me which one's the best.'

'Sir, I…'

'Oh, come on, darling! Don't be silly! Which one would you choose?'

I pointed at random. 'That one.'

He beamed and turned to Argyrio.

'There you are, you see!' he said. 'I told you he'd pick the emeralds, didn't I?' Argyrio smiled and bowed, but said nothing. 'Titus has marvellous taste, simply marvellous! Now that's enough! Pack the other two up, dear, and off you trot!'

We watched as Argyrio casually swept the rejected necklaces into a lambs-wool bag and with yet another bow followed the slave from the room. The door closed behind him. Lucius picked up the necklace I'd chosen and held it up between his hands.

'It's for Acte, of course,' he said. 'A surprise. Do you think she'll like it?'

'I'm sure she will.' The emeralds sparkled in the lamplight. 'Any woman would. It's beautiful.'

'Then it'll suit the dear girl perfectly.' He tossed the necklace aside. 'I'd half decided myself, but I wanted to ask you first, just to make sure.'

'You flatter me.'

'Nonsense, darling. Acte's often told me your judgment's impeccable. The best in Rome.'

I found this difficult to believe, but one doesn't contradict an emperor.

'No better than your own, sir, I'm sure,' I said.

Lucius beamed at me. Then with a sudden sweep of his hand he cleared the two nearest chairs of their clutter. 'Sit down, my dear. Would you like some wine?'

I nodded. I was feeling more than a little bemused. There was a jug on a side table. He poured and handed me the cup, then pulled the other chair over, sat down himself and stared at me. Our knees were almost touching. I felt most uncomfortable.

'Well?' he said at last. 'What do you think?'

I frowned. 'Pardon?'

He giggled. 'The wine, you idiot! Go on, taste it!'

I wondered if he intended to poison me as he had Britannicus; but it would've been the height of bad manners (and probably equally fatal) to refuse. I took a sip.

'Good?' He was watching me closely.

I held the wine in my mouth for a moment before swallowing. Greek, of course — I should've expected as much — but not by any means remarkable.

'I'm afraid I'm not too fond of Rhodian,' I said diplomatically.

'Oh, stop farting about, Titus! Let's have your honest opinion! I won't bite you, my dear!'

I took a deep breath. 'Very well. My honest opinion is you could do better for Rhodian. Who's your shipper?'

'Memnon.'

I nodded. 'I've had trouble with him before. He's overrated, in my view. Personally I favour Euelpides. Not so fashionable, but a far better judge of how well a wine will travel.'

His face clouded, and I mentally cursed my own stupidity. When asked for my opinion on another man's wine, my invariable rule is to say that it's excellent, even if it's absolute rotgut. If the other man also happens to be an emperor, the rule is even less open to modification.

'I'm sorry, sir,' I said. 'But you did ask.'

He was still scowling. 'No, no. Quite right. Quite right. I'd doubts myself.' He got to his feet, strode to the door, opened it and yelled, 'Straton!'

An elderly Greek slave appeared and bowed nervously. Lucius glanced at me.

'Straton,' he said. 'Cancel that order we placed with Memnon. Transfer it to Euelpides. In fact' — another glance in my direction — 'double it, there's a good fellow. A thousand jars.'

The slave left, closing the door behind him. Lucius smiled at me.

'There you are, darling. Satisfied?'

My head was spinning. 'Sir, I really wouldn't like to…'

'Nonsense!' He threw himself into his chair again. 'You've done me a favour. You're right, it's terrible stuff. I've said so myself, many times, but you know servants, they just won't listen!'

'Yes, sir.' Serapis!

He pulled the chair even closer. Involuntarily, I drew back; but fortunately he didn't seem to notice.

'You see, other people haven't got our sensibilities, my dear,' he said. 'Rome's a terrible place, it's so full of boors you can't imagine. Sometimes I feel so dispirited I could just give up altogether and leave them to it. If it wasn't for civilised friends like you and Acte I would. Even Mother…' He paused and frowned.

'The empress…?' I prompted. I had the strangest feeling that I had strayed into one of these boring little tête-à-têtes so beloved of middle-aged matrons, all scandal and back-biting.

Lucius giggled suddenly. 'Well, we'll leave Mother out of it. She's a lovely girl, but so unworldly you just wouldn't believe!' I bit my tongue. 'What the poor darling would say if she knew how I…' He hesitated. 'Titus, my dear, we are friends, aren't we? Good friends?'

'Of course.' I was beginning to sweat. This 'interview' was turning into something unpleasantly like a seduction, and I was not wholly sure how I was going to handle it. I could see that Lucius's own forehead, under the crisped curls, was beaded with perspiration.

'It's nothing very terrible,' he said. 'Not really. It's only a bit of fun, and I get so bored being good all the time. You understand that, don't you?'

'Yes, sir.' I wondered if I should simply plead a sudden griping of the bowels and cut and run. 'Of course I do.'

'I knew you would. You really are terribly understanding. Like dear Acte. So you'll come with me tonight? Just to see?'

'Sir, I don't quite know…' Our knees touched. I flinched.

'Please, Titus! You'd enjoy it, I'm sure. It's great fun, honestly.'

Personally I reserved judgment on that. Lucius's idea of fun and mine, I felt, were unlikely to coincide to any marked degree. I said nothing.

'Oh, come on, darling! Say you will! Don't be such a spoilsport!'