Luke Devenish: Nest of vipers

My mind wandered as I remembered the strange words of the goddess who had uttered them.

Acte wrote them down, speaking them aloud as she did so. She had not been born when they had first been uttered, yet she still knew them by heart. ' From the two, four will come, four who will rule.. '

I closed my eyes, remembering.

' The first will be he who nests for the cuckoo… '

'Yes…' I whispered.

'That was the Emperor Tiberius. And the cuckoo's egg that he nested was his "son", Sejanus, who was not his son at all.'

'Quite so.'

Acte continued writing. ' The second will be he who wears his father's crown…'

I nodded again.

'That was the brat, Little Boots,' said Acte, 'not yet king in the history so far, but destined to be so in what we write of tonight.'

I said nothing.

'Iphicles?' She could always tell when I was withholding something. 'Little Boots was the prophesied second king, was he not?'

'We'll get to all that in time,' I said.

'Sometimes I think you like to keep things mysterious just for my entertainment.'

I didn't deny it.

' The third will be he whose heart has no eyes. The fourth will be he who poisons the breast…' She completed writing the two remaining lines of the prophecy. 'These last two kings have not yet been revealed in our history so far.'

'Quite so.'

She waited for me to say something else, but I didn't. ' Will they be revealed?' she asked.

I echoed a phrase I had dictated when I first began our task: 'My intention is to entertain you,' I quoted, 'and once that is achieved, I will seek to enlighten you. I know of no other way to approach this history. You are my master and there is no alternate path for me but that which leads to your pleasure.'

Acte just rolled her eyes. 'Have it your way then. Shall we start?'

I heard the joints in my old arms crack as I stretched them in front of me. I felt tired and weary, more so than I ever had. Yet I felt invigorated by my great task, too. I nodded at my beautiful scribe. ' I am well over a hundred years old,' I began. ' My hair is gone, my skin is flaked, and the bones of my limbs are as fragile as glass. Most people think I am sixty — in itself a venerable age — but, in truth, I am the oldest slave in the empire.'

Acte wrote my words smoothly and fast — she now had a practised hand.

' Yet it doesn't do to advertise,' I continued. ' I am actually a god, you see — a god in mortal form. It was once my belief that I was the god Attis made mortal, the son and lover of the Great Mother, Cybele, goddess of the East. But this changed. The events I am about to detail exposed that I am not Attis at all, but another god. In time I shall reveal my true self to you.'

'Good,' said Acte, looking up. 'A suitable beginning.'

'Only suitable?'

'It won't hurt to edit it a little later,' she replied. 'Keep going, Iphicles.'

I narrowed my eyes, but continued all the same. ' I began my journey towards divine self-discovery when I made the greatest sacrifice any man can — freeborn or slave. I cut off my testicles and gave them as offerings to my then mistress, Livia Drusilla, who was herself the goddess Cybele in mortal form. My purpose at that time was only to serve her, and through this service I intended to do all that I could to fulfil my goddess's prophecies. Serve and fulfil I did. And the prophecies grew to be many.'

'Good,' said Acte again.

'You do not need to tell me "good", Acte.'

'No? Then I won't. I'll simply write.' There was a twinkle in her eye.

I went on. ' Lately I have arrived at the other purpose of my mortal life. More than simply enabling prophecy, my task on this earth is to record it. And yet now that I have commenced upon such a history, I can feel the strength falling away from my body in the tiniest of drops, like beads of perspiration. I am dying, I think. This great task is killing me. But perhaps it is a good death? Surely, when I am done, I will ascend to my reward? '

Acte pulled me from my reverie. 'One question must be answered before any of this, Iphicles.'

I was annoyed. 'What question is that?'

'If you're not in a mood to take this history seriously then perhaps we should wait until tomorrow to resume it,' said Acte, laying her stylus flat on the tablet.

I narrowed my eyes. 'My mistress?' I said. 'My domina? Is that what you're alluding to?'

'Yes, your domina,' said Acte. 'Livia Drusilla. At the point where our previous work on the history ended, you had drugged her and kept her in a state of endless sleep.'

I felt somewhat ashamed.

'Do I need to remind you that you violated her in that drugged state, Iphicles, and did so repeatedly?'

I couldn't look at her.

'The same domina you say you loved beyond all others?'

'You know my reasons for all that,' I replied.

'Perhaps. But how can you claim you loved her?'

I said nothing.

'No other issue is of greater importance. Did Livia die or did she recover?'

A chill gripped my spine.

'Iphicles?'

'We will get to all that in time. I swear it.'

Acte frowned again at my evasion.

I cleared my throat, hoping she'd pick up the stylus. 'There are three women I wish to bring to the foreground first, you see. They are the women on whom this entire section of my history pivots. I cannot emphasise their significance enough, Acte. In the Rome of their day, while my domina was so… incapacitated, there were no other women more loved than these three — or more loathed.'

'How could they have been both?' The stylus remained where it lay.

'It was how Rome was, back then. These women polarised the people. And each woman schemed for the same thing.'

'And that thing was?'

'To achieve what my domina had achieved. To be the Augusta. To be Empress of Rome.'

Acte took the stylus in her hand again. 'Which woman succeeded?'

I looked to the evening sky. She would have to wait and see.

'Very well. So was one of these women Agrippina, perhaps?'

'She is the first of the three,' I nodded.

'Very good. And the second?'

'Blind Apicata.'

'Excellent. And who is the third?'

'A woman I once overlooked.'

'Who?'

'Livilla.'

Unable to place this woman, Acte read back through some of the tablets again to find reference to her. 'Oh yes,' she replied. 'Here she is.'

'Livilla was Castor's wife,' I said. 'Castor, the son of the Emperor Tiberius. Castor, who was kind yet jealous, and who hated the Praetorian Prefect Sejanus with all his heart.'

'I'd barely noticed her,' said Acte. 'Shall we start with this Livilla, then?'

'Yes. But the slave-boy will be our focus.'

'Which slave-boy?'

'An important one.'

'Has he been in the history before?'

'He hasn't — but now he must enter.'

'Who is he, Iphicles?'

I felt a tear swell in my eye. I brushed it away before it had the chance to roll down my cheek. 'He is my son.'

Acte looked down respectfully at the wax tablet, her hand poised. 'I didn't know.'

I closed my eyes and saw a tiny speck of light within the darkness. 'Clio,' I whispered. 'Muse, is that you?' The speck of light twinkled like a star and the first of the new words began to fall upon my tongue, and as they did, the first drops of perspiration left my body once more. Mortal death edged closer.

'There was a phrase I used for this slave,' I said, my eyes still closed, 'a phrase the Emperor Tiberius coined, although he meant it for Sejanus. He loved that man like a son, you know.'

'I do know,' said Acte softly. 'Yet you felt it better fitted this slave — your own son. What was the phrase, Iphicles?'

I opened my eyes and told her.

Mercuralia

May, AD 20