David Wishart - Nero

'I only wanted someone to know that I was innocent.' For the first time Anicetus looked more indignant than frightened: a puffed-up little figure with inky fingers and a weak chin. 'They'll say I did it, but I didn't. You can tell everyone that for me, Petronius. Explain that I really never touched her.'

'Well, at least you can rest easy on that score, darling,' I said. 'No one would believe anything else.'

Then I left him for my overdue meeting with the emperor.

I didn't see Anicetus again. He spent a comfortable two years in Sardinia enjoying the delicacies that Lucius supplied him with and writing monographs on the lesser-known Greek lyricists, before dying peacefully(and perhaps conveniently) in his sleep. Octavia wasn't so lucky. Only a few days after her transfer to Pandateria she was followed by a picked group of Tigellinus's Praetorians. They bound her and slit her wrists; then, because terror made the blood flow too slowly, they carried her into the steam-room of the island's tiny baths where the heat and humidity were increased until she suffocated. Her head was brought back for Poppaea to see. She was not quite, I think, twenty years old.

I don't know whether Lucius knew these details or not. If he did, he never mentioned them.

Poor Octavia's exile and murder found its way through even the Senate's thick skin. Not that they actually got off their well-padded backsides to register a protest, naturally, but there was more than a little whiff of revolution in the air that autumn. I even caught a few rumbles of discontent from Arruntius when I invited him and Silia round one evening to split a boiled ostrich.

We'd almost finished the meal. Arruntius, who'd made severe inroads into my best Setinian, was more than a little drunk and eyeing up the young Numidian boy I'd bought a few days before to train as a wine waiter.

'So you're not so struck on your pal the emperor these days, then, Petronius,' he said suddenly.

'Pardon?' We'd been talking about the price of bay-side properties near Baiae: Arruntius was thinking of investing some of the bribes he'd squirrelled away from his Highways and Aqueducts post in the purchase of a small villa. This was a complete non-sequitur.

'I said' — he reached over and absent-mindedly stroked the Numidian lad's bottom as he poured — 'you're less enamoured of our artistic overlord than you have been in the past. Or so rumour has it.'

'We get on well enough.' I cracked a nut. Arruntius was an acceptable dinner companion, but not one to swap cosy secrets with. 'He may not take me into his confidence as much as he used to, but then I've never been a politician like yourself, my dear, so it doesn't really signify.'

Silia was peeling an apple. She looked up.

'No politics, Gnaeus, they're boring. And,' she added carefully, 'bad for one's health.'

The Numidian boy — I'd called him Masinissa, just for fun — smiled a hooded smile and padded off to top up the wine jug.

'Oh, don't misunderstand me, Petronius.' Arruntius had ignored her. He waved his newly filled cup, spilling a few drops on to the couch. 'You wouldn't be alone, old son. Lots of people are having second thoughts about Nero this past year, what with that new wife of his and bastard Tigellinus running things. Too many deaths, my friend. Too much grief.'

'Gnaeus!' Silia spoke quietly, but her voice held a curious warning note. 'That is quite sufficient!'

'Oh, Petronius is safe, darling.' Arruntius shifted his weight round to look at her: he'd got a great deal heavier over the years I'd known him, and now he was quite gross. 'Like he said, he hasn't the balls for politics. But the magic's gone for him as well as everyone else. Eh, Petronius? Am I right or not?'

I said nothing, and nor did Silia: she was looking daggers. Arruntius grinned and reached for an almond cake.

'Of course I'm right,’ he went on. ‘And do you want me to tell you why so many people are pissed off with Nero these days, my dear? Because he isn't a winner any longer. Us broad-stripers, we're tolerant of winners, we'll forgive them a lot.' He paused and stared directly at me. 'You think we're hypocrites. The Senate, I mean. Well, we're not. We're realists. Us and the emperor, it's like a marriage. You've got to have respect both sides. Doesn't matter what each partner does so much, as long as each fulfils the terms of the contract.' He turned suddenly to Silia, spilling the rest of his wine on the table. 'You agree, dear?'

'Gnaeus, I'm terribly sorry but I'm afraid you're drunk, darling.' Silia's voice was frosty. 'We'd best be getting back.'

'No. Oh, yes, I know I'm drunk. But we're not going home. Not just yet.' He dabbed at the spilled wine with a napkin. 'Don't worry that I'll get personal. I didn't mean it that way, you and Petronius can do whatever the hell you please together, I couldn't care less. But you see my point, don't you, Titus? Governing's a contract, and Nero isn't honouring it.'

'Really, my dear,’ I said quietly, ‘I think Silia's right. And it is getting rather late, at that.' I shared her concern: the servants were all reliable, but we were verging very closely on treason here.

Arruntius had heard me, but he paid no notice. Masinissa came back in and he beckoned him over.

'Here, boy. Come and sit by me. You don't want us to go home yet, now, do you?'

Oh, Serapis. We'd had this problem before. The only thing to do was to let the poor darling talk himself out and fall asleep where he lay. We could always throw a blanket over him and leave him there for the night. I raised my eyebrows at Silia, but she was looking the other way. Arruntius draped his left arm round the lad’s shoulders and held up his empty cup to be filled.

'He's ballsed up the Armenian war for a start,' he said. 'We could've held Armenia against the Parthians if he'd shown a bit more spunk. Then there was the business with the corn.'

'That wasn't his fault,' I said. Nor it was; through an unlucky combination of events almost three hundred grain ships had been lost with their cargoes, and Lucius had ordered a barn-load of corn which had gone mouldy dumped into the Tiber. As a result Rome's granaries had been left almost empty.

'Maybe not his fault, but his responsibility. It's the emperor's job to look after the city's corn supply. Otherwise the mob gets upset and we're all in trouble.' Arruntius's forefinger was stroking the boy's nipple through his tunic. 'And another thing. Three hundred ships wrecked, then that fancy new Greek gymnasium of his struck by lightning. Then the earthquake at Pompeii. Too many disasters all in one year. I may not be superstitious, Petronius, but even I get the feeling someone's trying to tell us something. It all adds up.'

'It all adds up to what?'

'I told you.' His voice was becoming slightly slurred: that last cup of wine might have done it. Surreptitiously I indicated to Masinissa to keep the top-ups coming. 'To Nero being a loser. Even then we might be more sympathetic if he'd back up a bit where we're concerned, but he couldn't care less.'

'You being the Senate again?' All this was quite alarming. I was used to Arruntius shooting his mouth off when he was drunk, but usually it was only hot air. This sounded more serious.

'Us being the Senate. Nero may hate our guts but he's a fool to make it so obvious, because some of us may just decide we've had enough and do something about it.'

'Arruntius, I really think that we should — ’

'Piso for one. Ever since that slimy bastard Romanus tried to get Seneca indicted he's — '

' Gnaeus! That's enough! ' Silia snapped. She'd been getting more and more restless, and I'd assumed it was because of Arruntius's bad manners: his left hand had moved down to the hem of the slave-boy's tunic. Evidently it wasn't: I'd rarely seen her so angry.