Luke Devenish - Nest of vipers

The temple sacristan was disturbed in his dreams by a scratching at the door. This was not the night when he habitually left the keys in the hands of others and sought out a tavern to sleep in. This was his free night, and his bed was just that — his own. He tried to dream on but the scratching continued, steady and persistent.

'Go away,' the old man muttered from his cot, not allowing himself to wake.

'Sacristan!' the scratcher whispered.

It was her, although it should not have been. 'It is not your time to use the temple,' he answered. But already his dreams were melting away into the shadows.

'Let me in,' she whispered into the door's crack. 'I need it now.'

Sleep left the sacristan and he sat up in his cot, feeling his old joints ache as he sought his woollen shoes. It was cold. The air around him wouldn't warm until the morning. Somewhere in the distance he heard a sentry call the watch of Gallicinium, the second hour past midnight. This was very late, even for her.

'Hurry,' she whispered from the other side of the temple's bolted front door.

'Concordia hurries for no man or woman,' was his reply as he pulled a cloak around his shoulders. He emerged from his little sleeping chamber to enter the hall of the ancient temple, and the rats fled from the goddess's statue, where they'd been gorging on the fruit in her cornucopia. The sacristan hated that the late-night visitor would see this sacrilege — it was his job to keep the goddess free of vermin — but a man could only do so much. This was another reason why he made all nocturnal worshippers stick to prearranged bookings.

'Hurry!' she whispered again.

A single oil lamp was still alight and he adjusted the wick so the flame grew brighter. Then he pulled back the door bolt. 'I did not expect you tonight, Lady.'

Livilla slipped inside and the sacristan saw that her hair was undressed, flowing loose to her shoulders. She had dressed with haste too, throwing a rough cloak over a stola that was meant for the bedroom, not the streets.

'Are you unaccompanied, Lady?' He didn't like this.

'A friend is delivering a message for me.'

'But where… where are the gentleman's slaves? The men who usually bring you here?'

She held him with a piercing look. 'I have come alone.' She dug into the purse knotted at her wrist and pulled out some aureus coins. They shone in the dim light of the oil lamp as she counted them — six in all. 'Is this enough?'

The sacristan had to lean upon the doorjamb for a moment. 'More than enough, Lady.'

'Good. Leave me with Concordia.' She held out her hand for the keys.

Sejanus took them.

Livilla cried out with the shock of seeing him appear behind her so suddenly. She hadn't heard him approach. Sejanus poked his finger into the pouch inside his cloak and pulled out some more aureus coins — another six.

'Take these,' he said to the sacristan.

The old man shot Livilla a look, fearful she'd reveal she'd just paid him. But Livilla held her tongue.

The sacristan hurried down the temple steps, hoping he'd make the tavern without harm. The streets were full of thieves, and he'd be lucky if there was anything better than sacks to sleep on when he got to the tavern. But it didn't matter. He had more gold in his possession than he'd ever known. He was only vaguely aware of the huge, lean Laconian dog that lurked in the shadows as he passed. The loyal dog Scylax placed his head upon his paws, having retrieved Sejanus for his mistress.

Inside the temple Sejanus and Livilla stared at each other for a long moment before either dared to speak. Each tried to read the other's thoughts, and each believed they had underestimated the other in ways that both excited them and made them wary. But each was burdened by a misconception.

It was Sejanus who spoke first. 'Our day is here, then?'

Livilla's heartbeat was deafening in her ear, but she smiled — a slow, feline curl that played upon her lips and had everything of her grandmother Livia's allure to it. 'It is here — thanks to my king.'

Sejanus was tripped up by her words. He believed it was Livilla who had found the means to bring them closer to their dream. Who else could have brought on Castor's death so suddenly? 'Thanks to my queen,' he replied.

Livilla felt a moment's confusion too, but she quashed the doubt from her mind. Of course it was Sejanus who had killed Castor. No one else could have done it. No one else could have been as skilful and bold. She dropped the coarse woollen palla to her feet and let Sejanus run his hands along the thin fabric at her belly and then to her breasts. The night air was chill but she didn't care. Her nipples were hard for him already — and Sejanus, she saw, was hard for her too.

He spread her eagerly, his fingers at her cleft, and the pungent, fetid juice of her was slick inside her sex. The stink of her arousal filled the stale temple air. She moaned for him.

'Castor is dead… Now I'm wholly, truly yours, my god.'

His hands cupped her mons, his fingers pinching at the shining jewel that was her bead. He tossed her into the air like a cloth doll, catching her in his long, sinewy arms before he tore the stola from her breasts with his teeth. The fabric fell about Livilla in shreds as he heaved her rump onto Concordia's altar, parting her legs once more and revealing her fully in the golden light of the oil lamp. His fingers, hands and mouth were at her sex and she arched her back, panting with pleasure, raising her lips to meet his flicking, darting tongue.

Sejanus lapped at Livilla, drinking from the fountain of her womanhood, while Livilla's thoughts were only of her son. The grieving boy Gemellus was being comforted by his wet nurse at Oxheads. He believed his father was dead, but soon Livilla would tell him the truth of the matter: his father was very much alive. His father was Sejanus. His father was the real heir to the throne of Rome.

Alone in the entrance hall to Castor's house, Lygdus let the tears spill down his cheeks where no one could see him. He covered his mouth with his hands as the sobs of anguish came, torn raw from his heart. 'I'm so sorry for it, domine,' he stammered into his fingers. 'I'm so sorry for it…'

He tried to make a fresh map in his mind to guide his future. But now he could see that only one road was his. For all these months he had forced himself to believe that his lowly slave's existence would be devoted to murder and crimes, and that by living in this way he would become elevated. He had forced himself to hold on to the faith that his humble life — and the life of Rome — would be made the better for what he would do. But now he knew this would not be so, and could never be. He had failed.

Lygdus knew in his heart he would fail from the moment I had told him of Cybele and the prophecies and my sacrifice. He had ignored his doubts but the truth was inescapable now. He was shattered by what he had done. He was overwhelmed by his actions and not transported to some higher plain at all. He was sickened with the foulest remorse.

Lygdus had murdered his dominus, taken another man's life. He had lied, betrayed and killed, and the road he had travelled to achieve these things would now be his forever.

He would kill and kill again, just as I, his mentor, killed as easily as I breathed. He would kill without pleasure or love or belief. He would kill to survive. He would kill or be killed. And with each new death his stench would grow. He was a murderer now — a vile assassin.

He would never be free and he would never be clean, even if he became a god for it.

When Apicata's maids let themselves out of the kitchens, they stood very still, straining to hear any sounds that might suggest that their master remained in the house. He had ordered them from the corridor where they slept when the strange dog had appeared, scratching at the front door. They knew it held a message under its collar, but none saw what it was because Sejanus ordered them from his sight.