Luke Devenish - Nest of vipers

'That'll destroy it,' she said. 'Flavours and spices make it lose its power.'

This was a different poison than I had encountered before.

'It works across many months,' Martina went on, 'and when it finally builds to the right dose within the victim, delirium follows, then death.'

'But it can't be put in food?'

'Didn't I just tell you that, slave?'

'Then how do I administer it?'

This was of no concern to Martina.

'What about wine?'

'That will destroy it as effectively as food.'

'Water then?'

'You could try it.'

'It works in water?'

'It works very well,' Martina replied. 'But it tastes of nettles. And there's a nasty aftertaste of sour apples too.'

This left me bewildered. 'How can I give it without the victim knowing?'

Martina just smiled. 'Aren't you supposed to be a cunning slave?'

I saw a malicious spark in watching Livia's eyes.

'I know how to do it,' Lygdus suddenly piped up.

I wouldn't hear him. 'This is typical of you,' I spat angrily at Martina. 'Your gifts are never gifts, are they? They're torments!'

'Iphicles!' Lygdus cried out from the door. He could see our hopes being lost to the wind.

I wouldn't be warned. 'Why can't you just give us something that works?' I demanded of the witch. 'Like the poison you used on Marcellus — and poor Agrippa too? Or the same stuff you gave to the domina to feed Octavian? Why do you have to make things so hard?'

Martina's fingers snapped around the vial in a fist. 'I've changed my mind,' she said. 'Find yourself another witch.'

'Iphicles!' Lygdus wailed in despair.

I leaped at Martina's hands, screaming obscenities at her. We grappled like monkeys as I scratched and bit at her to prise the vial from her grasp. Martina spat in my eye and the foul phlegm seemed to sizzle like burning oil. 'Give it to me! Give it to me!' I shrieked.

She kicked me in the shins and I howled in further pain. 'You filthy whore!'

Martina cackled with glee until I robbed her of power by throwing myself hard to the floor, taking her with me and causing us to roll together like serpents in a ditch. Then all light left the room as a colossal form fell from the heavens to land on top of us, flushing the wind from our lungs and pinning us both beneath its bulk. It was Lygdus. The vial shot from Martina's hands and went spinning across the floor.

'Get it!' I spluttered.

All three of us scuttled after the thing but I managed to gain the lead. I heard a sickening thud as Lygdus kicked the pursuing Martina. I couldn't see where the vial had gone. 'Find it!' I screamed.

Lygdus upturned furniture and threw aside chairs. He flung himself at the tapestry that covered the wall and ripped it from its rings, exposing the storage shelves behind. The vial was lodged in the lowest space, wedged against earthenware bowls. 'I see it!' He snatched it up in triumph.

As the eunuch and I turned around to gloat at Martina, I saw the tiniest movement at my domina 's lips. Something was there and then wasn't; something small and white. Had she swallowed it? My head was ringing and my nose was running blood. I decided my eyes were playing tricks. Martina stood next to her, grinning at us, her left arm hanging loose from her shoulder. Lygdus had dislocated it when he'd kicked her.

'Well, that was fun,' she purred. She took hold of her swinging arm and manipulated herself for a moment until the limb popped back into place. She'd clearly experienced a dislocation before.

With that, she strode regally to the door, the rays of rosy sunset striking the hump on her back through the open windows. She paused for a second, letting the sun turn the stola fabric a dull orange where it stretched across her deformity. Liking the effect this had upon Lygdus, she gave him a wink. He looked like he was about to be sick.

'Well, I'll be off, then,' she said.

She stole into the corridor and was gone.

I gave no further thought as to how she might leave Oxheads without me to escort her — she'd been pulling similar escape tricks for decades. Likewise, I gave no other thought as to how I might find her again. I was arrogant in my victory; I had won the poison and now held the power of life and death in my hands.

But as Lygdus and I relished our little triumph, we were startled when Martina's head reappeared. 'Let me know when it works, won't you?'

A little thrown, I nodded automatically. But it was only when she had vanished again that it occurred to me she had not been looking in my direction when she made her final words.

She had been looking at my domina.

The blood of twelve good men stained the sand at Flamma's feet, his own blood with them, running from his limbs in streams. Yet still he stood, while none around him did. He was the last left alive. He had dispatched his first opponent in little more than a minute, and the astonished mob demanded he be given another. When that man, too, had joined his colleague in death, another man was thrown at him, and then another and then another, until the mob lost count. Flamma killed them all. Some took little more than seconds, others longer, providing the mob with the spectacle they craved.

At first no one knew his name; few had even listened when it was announced. But as the bodies piled up around him and, from the Imperial box, Castor forbade the slaves to carry them away, the mob demanded to know who he was — this star they had never seen before, who killed his fellow men as easily as mice. When the twelfth and final man was dead, Castor called out the question so that the enthralled and dumbfounded mob would hear the reply and remember it.

'I am Flamma,' he answered.

His name was taken up by all, repeated like an echo around the tiers — like a prayer. Their cherished favourites were barely minutes dead but already the mob had a new star — a shining, freshly painted god to laud in bright graffiti all over Rome. Another cry arose at once: 'Thirteen! Thirteen! Thirteen!'

Castor listened to it build then looked to the exhausted, bloody man staring up at him from the sand. Castor's foot abscess gave him pain but it was nothing, he knew, to what this Flamma must feel, having killed twelve and now facing the mob's demand that he take on a thirteenth. 'They want your fight to go on,' Castor called down to him.

Flamma just nodded, ready, blood trickling into his eyes.

Castor felt for the handkerchief and went to raise his hand to signal that a thirteenth opponent be brought. Then a woman stood up in her seat behind him and held his arm. Flamma saw her whisper in his ear, and as she did so, her hooded veil fell from her head, revealing rings of golden hair. It was Agrippina. Castor's brow creased but she was adamant in what she said to him. Castor nodded at last and Agrippina returned to her chair, folding her hands in her lap but leaving her fallen hood upon her shoulders.

Castor turned to the mob. 'We have a new hero at this Ludi and his name is Flamma!'

The mob was ecstatic.

'But twelve good kills is enough for a hero — Hercules himself stopped at that amount. Flamma is named the Widow's champion!'

The mob reacted with glee to this news.

'So, I say that Flamma has earned a rest,' Castor concluded. 'Let him fight again for us another day!'

There were some howls of disappointment at first, until cries of support for Castor's words — and Agrippina's connection — began to drown out the others. Then sentiment took hold entirely and the arena mob rose to its feet, stamping and screaming and applauding Flamma, while the musicians took their cue to blast upon the tubas and the choir began a reprise of the most popular song.

Flamma's eyes met Agrippina's, where she sat upright and graceful in her chair. She was so very far above him, like the goddess of vengeance that he likened her to, while he was far beneath, her savage beast of prey. But there was pride in Agrippina's eyes, pride in his achievements — pride that she had been the one who had claimed him. Flamma mouthed two heartfelt words to her — 'thank you' — which Agrippina saw and understood with a smile.