David Wishart - Nero

I said nothing. It was a fair comment. I might have respected Burrus, but we'd had our differences.

Seneca seemed to realise that he was still holding the pen. He set it down carefully on the manuscript. 'And how was our friend Tigellinus?' he asked.

'Quietly content. Like a cat who's got the cream.' I shifted in my chair. 'Which he has. So what will you do now? Carry on as the emperor's adviser?'

'No.' He shook his head. 'There wouldn't be any point to that. I'll resign. After a decent interval, naturally. Or ask Nero to allow me to go into retirement, rather, since my position's never been official.'

'Is that necessary?'

'No, not exactly. But I can't help the lad now, and I've been no more than' — he hesitated — 'no more than an inconvenience to him for some time. Besides' — he indicated the book-roll — 'I have my writing to catch up on.'

'Philosophy? Or another play?'

'Philosophy. What else, at my time of life? The plays were never more than a spiritual emetic. I don't think you ever quite understood that, my dear fellow. Also if I'm not too much mistaken they would be rather too…too close to reality in future for everyone's comfort. I only hope the dear boy leaves me in peace. But what about you, Petronius? What will you do?'

I shrugged, feeling suddenly uncomfortable. 'Plan parties. Go to parties. Butter him up. What I've always done.'

'You may find it a little more difficult in future,' he said drily. 'Now you've been replaced, as Burrus and I have been.'

'I'll survive,' I said, getting up.

'Oh, you will, you will.' There was no friendliness in Seneca's smile, and he got to his feet with a shade too much alacrity. 'You will certainly survive. For a year or two yet, anyway. Meanwhile come along, my dear fellow, and I'll show you out.'

We walked through the hallway in silence, avoiding each other's eyes. At the door, he paused.

'You remember the conversation we had some time ago?’ he said. ‘About the chariot and the runaway horse?'

'Yes.' I'd been trying not to think of it all day, since I'd seen Tigellinus and Lucius together.

'Well, the chariot has another driver now. Or soon will have.' As the slave opened the door he turned to face me. 'Do you feel he's better than the last? And are you still sure that the horse is heading in the right direction?'

I didn't reply. The door closed softly behind me.

A month or so later, Seneca left Rome for his villa in Campania, and Lucius hardly noticed he'd gone. This indifference worried me, because it didn't only extend to Seneca. Although I was spending more and more time with him than before our relationship was changing, becoming more distant, and I felt now less like a friend than a hired social organiser. Matters came to a head one day when I went to the palace and found him as usual in conference with Tigellinus. For a moment, until he saw who I was, he had frowned. Then he turned to Tigellinus with a shrug and said: 'Never mind, dear. It's only my Adviser on Taste.'

Tigellinus sniggered.

Lucius's Adviser on Taste. Why the phrase should've rankled so much, even more than the shrug or the snigger, I don't know. I talked it over with Silia that evening as I watched her get ready for one of Lucius's frequent and increasingly interminable parties.

'Personally I think you're being silly, darling,' she said, fastening the pearl earrings Arruntius had given her at the Spring Festival. 'It's a tremendous compliment, really. And you do do it so well.'

I rubbed a speck of wax from the arm of my chair.

'Perhaps so,’ I said. ‘But I'm not some kind of major-domo earning a bonus by booking some flavour-of-the-month entertainer for his master's business dinner.'

'Aren't you?' Silia turned her exquisitely made up eyes on me. I winced. 'Oh, I'm sorry, Titus, I didn't mean it that way. But what's wrong with helping the emperor bring a little civilised living to the city? You've always said you rather admired him for it.'

'I do. But there's a' — I hesitated, feeling for the proper phrase — 'an angry hardness about him these days that wasn't there before. Then he was working for the good of Rome. Now I don't think he particularly cares. In fact I suspect he'd be just as glad if they fought him all the way.'

'"They"?'

'The Senate. Or the establishment, rather. The hard-line traditionalists. He's always disliked them, and it's quite mutual. Now with dear Tigellinus whispering sweet nothings in his ear he's beginning to wonder about taking them on properly.'

Silia had picked up the mirror to check the effect of the earrings. Now she put it down and said gravely: 'You're worried about Tigellinus, aren't you?'

'Yes. He's an animal, completely amoral. He causes trouble just for the kick it gives him, without thinking of the consequences. And Lucius follows his lead because Tigellinus has the courage to do what he wants to do and Lucius doesn't. Oh, yes. I'm worried about Tigellinus.'

Silia took up the mirror again and made a play of examining her eyebrows.

'You may like to know,' she said slowly, 'that he's having an affair with Poppaea.' I sat forward in my chair. 'Oh, a very discreet one. And they may not even be sleeping together.'

'That's nonsense! Tigellinus would never be such a fool.'

Silia shrugged. 'Take it or leave it, dear. But my informant tells me that Lucius's darling Poppy made the first approach.'

'Which informant?'

'You remember Acte's maid Chryse? She's in Puteoli, of course, but her sister still works at the palace, and she passes me the occasional bit of privileged information.'

'Gossip, you mean?'

'If you want to call it that,' Silia said with great dignity. 'We all have our little interests, and I happen to enjoy a bit of scandal.'

'Do you trust her?'

'Implicitly.'

I sat back. This was important. Lucius had his good qualities, but he was easily swayed by anyone strong-minded enough to make the effort and whom he found sympathetic. With Burrus and Seneca gone the only two real influences on him (I could hardly count myself any more) were Tigellinus and Poppaea. If they'd joined forces then we were in trouble. I was in trouble. Both were unscrupulous, and neither of them was too taken with Titus Petronius.

'They don't sleep together?' I said.

'They may not be sleeping together, dear. Chryse's sister's a very conscientious informer, even if the poor girl is just the tiniest bit thick.'

'So it could be a…political affair?'

Silia smiled. 'My dear Titus, have you seen Poppaea recently? She's stunning, absolutely stunning! And Tigellinus may be a dreadful shit, but he's an extremely attractive one. Political it may be, but if so the deal was signed between the sheets.'

'I bow to your superior knowledge of the world, darling.' I was thinking rapidly. Power as such — apart from the power to disrupt, which he already had — didn't interest Tigellinus. He'd bed Poppaea willingly enough if she made him the offer, but if he did it would be with no other motive than pleasure in the act itself. Poppaea was another matter. She was desperate to become empress; which meant, of course, getting rid of Lucius's virtually estranged wife Octavia. So far Lucius had refused, because Octavia was as popular as Poppaea was disliked, and a remarriage would serve no purpose. If she could persuade Tigellinus to help her, then…

'Titus, what do you think?'

'Mmm?'

Silia was holding two necklaces up for my inspection. 'Oh, come on, darling! Please! We really must be going, and this is important. The pearls or the rubies?'

'The pearls,' I said.

Her nose wrinkled. 'Not the rubies?'

'The pearls, darling. Quite definitely the pearls.'

'Very well.' She replaced the ruby necklace in her jewel-case. 'I wish I hadn't mentioned that dratted girl, you'll be dreadful all evening. Now do stop moping and tell Simon to fetch the litter.'