Luke Devenish - Nest of vipers

The tiny serpent slid down my domina 's cheek, nestling in the cup of her throat for a moment before it slipped inside the space between her breasts. It was her child, this beast, and it loved her as a child must love its mother. The snake encircled my domina 's nipple, its tongue flicking her skin in loving caress. Then it opened its mouth to suckle.

Livia gave a cry as the fangs met her flesh. I stirred in my sleep again. 'Are you all right, domina?' I muttered.

'Hush now,' Livia whispered in my dreams. 'My baby is feeding at my breast…'

The Kalends of March

AD 22

Three months later: Gaius Junius Silanus, governor of Asia Minor, is found guilty of offences against the majesty of Tiberius and banished to the island of Gyaros

The pantomimus danced with such a grace as Tiberius had never before seen. The beautiful youth leaped and fell and leaped again, as if his body weighed no more than a leaf. His every gesture was exquisite; his every emotion was conveyed with perfection unsurpassed.

'Obscene,' Tiberius whispered under his breath. 'This is obscene.' His hands clapped in time with the humpbacked chorus member, who wielded the clapper board and looked at him with such fixed intensity. 'This is obscene,' he muttered again.

'Uncle?'

He became aware of the shambling presence beside his curule chair. How long had it been there? He refused to acknowledge it, keeping his eyes glued to the beautiful pantomimus. 'Filth,' he said louder.

'Uncle, please.'

Tiberius looked down with annoyance and saw that it was Claudius. 'You're pathetic,' he told him. Claudius didn't disagree. Tiberius found pleasure in this and was immediately glad that his crippled nephew had come to greet him. 'Have you been standing there long?'

Claudius nodded. 'About my request, Uncle?' He peered uneasily at a filth-caked pile of rags slumped on the other side of Tiberius's chair. The rags stirred a little.

'Yes, yes — but what do you think of the musica muta?'

Claudius was stricken, unsure what response was required, until he took refuge in the place that usually served him best: the truth. 'I adore them, Uncle.'

'So do I!' said Tiberius. 'Do you find them obscene?'

'I find them… erotic,' said Claudius.

Tiberius digested that word and found that it didn't sit well with him. He went back to clapping again. The filthy rags stirred once more.

'Uncle?'

Tiberius seemed to notice him for the first time. 'What is it?'

'About my request… to the haruspex… regarding my situation?'

'What of it?'

'I wonder if I might hear his reply?'

'How should I know?'

Claudius cleared his throat, aware of the eyes of the musica muta artists upon him. 'He is sitting there beside you, Uncle.'

Tiberius looked down at the pile of rags with surprise. 'Thrasyllus? Have you been here all along?'

The broken haruspex moaned where he lay, rank and foul in his rags, stinking like the worst of the sewers.

'You were about to command him to tell it to me, Uncle.'

'Why not command him yourself? He's been very compliant since I initiated the beatings. He almost never gets things wrong anymore.'

Although he felt ill from the smell, Claudius went to address the shattered form of Thrasyllus. But something stopped him again. He looked at the two Praetorians slouching at the door with heavy pouches of gold hanging from their belts. 'Caesar has forbidden anyone to hear the words of soothsayers directly,' Claudius reminded Tiberius.

The look on Tiberius's face suggested he had never heard of such a directive.

'It is a capital crime. You banned all soothsayers from Italy. Only Caesar's haruspex remains — at your personal service.'

Tiberius was confused for a moment. Then he fumbled on the low table in front of his chair until his hand connected with his goblet. He picked it up and took a sip of the rich, thick liquid it contained. The sickly sweetness of it reached Claudius's nostrils, making him feel more nauseous still.

Claudius cleared his throat again. 'My request to Thrasyllus… was actually your request, Uncle.'

'Was it?'

'You said I was pathetic — a disgrace to your house. You said my son Hector's death was my own fault — that I had brought it on through being a cripple and a halfwit.'

'I did say all that, didn't I?' Tiberius recalled.

Claudius had no argument with any of it. 'You said you would ask your haruspex what the future held for me. You said it might provide me with clues as to how I might… not offend you any further.'

Tiberius stared imperiously at the pile of fetid rags beside his chair. 'Speak, haruspex, and stop wasting our time.'

Thrasyllus's voice was like a draught of stale air from a long-closed tomb. ' New love awaits…'

Claudius's heart leaped.

' Love so great… your blinding love… the rarest of birds …'

Claudius's eyes filled with tears and he stooped to kiss the hem of Tiberius's robe. 'Thank you, Uncle, thank you. I've been so lonely since my son died…'

' Love brings the new son… the son of the isles…'

Claudius's eyes boggled in astonishment and he fell into sobs of joy. Tiberius let him continue for several minutes, finding it gratifying for a time, before he grew tired of the display and pulled the fabric from his nephew's lips. Claudius righted himself again. 'Does the haruspex… Does he name this new love for me, Uncle? Does he say where I can find her?'

Tiberius kicked Thrasyllus with his foot and the haruspex started to choke. ' M… m… mes…'

'Speak clearer!' Tiberius kicked him again.

' Mes… mess…'

'It's Misenum!' Tiberius clapped his hands together excitedly. 'That's where she is, nephew, at the home of Rome's fleet. I'd say she's the daughter of an admiral.'

Claudius shone with amazement. 'I will take myself to Misenum at once, Uncle.'

'A fine idea.'

' Unborn… the love is unborn…'

'What does that mean, Uncle?'

Tiberius aimed his boot squarely at Thrasyllus's chin, and then, when the broken haruspex 's head snapped sharply back at the neck, Tiberius bent down in his chair to slap hard at the man's cheeks. 'Speak clearer!'

' Here… for Mercury…' Thrasyllus slipped into unconsciousness.

Claudius looked bewildered, as did Tiberius for a moment. Then the Emperor saw that the pantomimus had paused in his dance. 'Did I ask you to stop?' he said to the musica muta artists. They resumed their performance with vigour.

'Shall I leave, Uncle?

'Unborn… for Mercury…' Tiberius pondered. Then a smile split his face like a wound. 'The girl isn't born yet — she's still in the womb! But Thrasyllus says she'll be here for Mercury — don't you see, halfwit? He's named the very date of her birth! She'll pop out on the next day of Mercury — and she'll be born in Misenum!'

Things were moving all too fast for the bewildered Claudius, and he felt his weak left leg begin to shake.

'Now get out,' said Tiberius.

Claudius fell over and struck his chin on the marble as he leaned forward to bow. Tiberius roared with laughter and then abruptly stopped, glaring hatefully at him. Claudius scuttled to the door with the sniggers of the two Praetorians hissing in his ears. Tiberius forgot about his nephew immediately, his eyes wandering back to the dancing pantomimus.

The mound of rags stirred. ' The third…'

Tiberius kicked him again.

' The third…'

He stared at the moaning haruspex.

' The third…'

Tiberius decided he'd been remiss in claiming to his nephew that Thrasyllus was never wrong anymore. Sometimes the fool soothsayer came out with things that couldn't be more absurd.

Lygdus seized the moment as soon as he spotted the vacant fuller's pot at the side of the road to the Palatine Hill. Breaking from Castor's interminable procession, he dashed to the front of the reeking laundry premises, where the earthenware pot stood beneath the sign that said 'Relieve yourself'. The fuller needed lakes of urine to bleach his clients' togae white, and Lygdus was happy to provide — but only when he had the pot to himself. Burdened with the shame of castration, Lygdus hid his tiny eunuch's penis behind his hand as he relieved himself. He was startled when another man joined him.