Luke Devenish - Nest of vipers

The warmth of the sun was his again as they dragged him down the stairs by the hook — the blue of the sky, the tumult of swallows.

The tide of barefoot women washed down from the hills like rain. Their hair unbound, their stolae coarse and undyed, they were Vesta's penitents, ready to sweep out her temple and package her dirt safe from thieves. From each patrician home more women trickled from the doors, adding to the stream, swelling the numbers to a torrent. Voices rose to the heavens in song. The Temple of Vesta in the Forum threw its doors wide to receive them, as the virgins within began passing out brooms, standing aside as the first of the women began to sweep. The sacred flame of the goddess crackled and waved; Vesta was welcoming.

Sosia moved through the flow of female devotion. She was part of them, yet not; a patrician, but no longer one of their class. She strode with dignity against the tide, cutting a tiny, narrow path. The way opened before her; behind, her path was swallowed by the mass.

Sosia's hair was loose, her feet were bare and her stola was of the roughest, greyest wool. She was no different to any other woman in the street on this sacred day except in her purpose. Vesta had been denied to Sosia, as had all the other gods. Sosia's home was no longer hers; her husband and her children had been taken from her. She was without possessions — without slaves, even. She had been forbidden to hold money, or to beg for it, or to throw herself upon the kindness of friends. She was a non-person; no longer patrician, no longer privileged and no longer Roman. She was to leave.

As she made her progress towards the Servian Wall, women recognised her. Some stopped and stared, fear marking their faces in the moment of recognition before they looked to the ground. Others clutched at her clothes or touched her arms, whispering words of compassion as they passed. One woman kissed her hair. But Sosia walked on, her eyes dry of all tears until she found the one face she searched for.

Agrippina flew at her friend, and when she reached her, clutched her tight, her lips at her ear. 'I'll save you,' she said. 'I'll find a way to save you — '

Sosia shook her head. 'Save yourself,' she said, and she broke down at last. The women around them stopped as one, aware of who the two were and why they wept and clung to each other. Those who lacked courage held back, frightened, but those for whom nobility was as much a part of them as the very air they breathed moved forward, forming a ring around the broken friends.

'Protect yourself,' Sosia repeated. 'Save your children, your sons. Take them away from Rome — make them forget the injustices done.'

'I cannot — you know I cannot,' Agrippina wept.

'This vengeance will destroy you, then,' Sosia said. 'It's what your husband warned — it'll kill you if you stay on this path. Please, Agrippina, save yourself. This reckless courage is meant for men, not for us. It's meant for men…'

Agrippina brushed the hair from her treasured friend's face and kissed her lips. 'I will save you,' she vowed, acknowledging nothing that Sosia had said. 'I will find you when all this is done and I will save you. Have faith in me.'

Sosia nodded, but in her heart she knew they would never meet again. 'I love you,' she whispered.

Then she turned and was gone in the tide.

The tiny cry of an infant told me the pomerium was close, and as I saw the row of white cippi stones appear, marking the limits of Rome, I saw the babies too, abandoned at birth and exposed outside the walls. I moved among the scattered tombs, hoping to find a clear view of the road without being seen myself, but a cry distracted me from my purpose. It came from the only infant still alive from the night before; there were half a dozen others cold and dead. It was a miracle this baby hadn't perished in the chill dawn air, or been taken yet by foxes or some childless wife. I peered at where the tiny thing lay among the wildflowers, naked and streaked with birth blood. I brushed the ants from its face. It was not deformed — that I could tell. Its only crime, I supposed, was being born female in a household that had hoped for a male. This was how such misfortunes were righted in Rome.

A movement at the roadside took my focus. Among the carts and bullocks and chains of slaves, a woman in undyed wool stumbled on the stones, nearly falling, before she righted herself and made to carry on. Sosia's bare feet were bleeding already, I saw. I glanced at the tiny infant helplessly and then stole forward, weaving around the tombs to place myself ahead of her. When Sosia drew near, I stepped onto the road. No one else paid attention.

'Lady,' I called, as loudly as I dared.

Sosia stopped still, thrown at seeing me. Then she made to move past. 'I am exiled, Iphicles. No one can speak to me.'

I sank to one knee before her. 'I am so sorry, Lady.' Tears were forming in my eyes. 'You don't deserve this fate — you are blameless.'

She said nothing, staring at the ground. I glanced around us to assure myself we were still being ignored. Then I reached into the sack I carried and retrieved a pair of street shoes. 'For your feet — please take them.'

She stared at them for a second, but made no move to accept. I laid the shoes on the road before her. 'Lady, here.' I showed her what else was in the sack — bread and cheese, and a small jug of wine. 'Take them, Lady.'

Sosia resumed walking, leaving the items by the road. Stricken, I scooped them into the sack again and ran after her. She stopped when I caught her.

'Let me be, Iphicles — I am of no concern to you.'

'Your children,' I stammered. 'I'll try to protect them — I'll do what I can.'

Sosia stared at me. 'What can you possibly do? You're only a slave.'

My desire to tell her that I was much more than a slave was so strong that I felt myself succumb to it. 'Trust me. I can help them. I have means.'

My words were beyond Sosia's comprehension.

'Their deaths,' I whispered, 'serve no purpose to anyone — this makes my task to protect them easier, don't you see?'

'What purpose did my husband's death serve?' Sosia demanded.

'None, Lady,' I said. 'It was a low, criminal act.'

'And my exile? That's criminal too?'

I nodded.

'And yet both still occurred. So now my children are as dead as their parents.' She went to move on.

I held her arm. 'This will change,' I assured her.

' This?'

'This rule — this misrule — of Tiberius.' I looked about me in fear of being overheard, but no passersby on the road around us gave us the slightest attention. 'There are some who labour towards ending his time — to bring on the second king,' I told her.

She stared at me again with something new behind her eyes. I had shocked her with my manner, my confidence, my certainty — none of which befitted a slave. 'Those who labour — is this you?' she asked.

I paused. Could I dare to trust her with the life's work that both empowered and corrupted me? 'Yes, Lady,' I whispered.

She reeled.

'The second king has been chosen, prophesied by the haruspex Thrasyllus with the words of the Great Mother. I do everything I can to bring this king's time forward — I labour for it tirelessly.'

'These labours — what are they?'

I missed the anger that was growing in her voice, blushing and looking to the ground. 'They are what must be done,' was all I could say.

It was the longest time before I raised my eyes, and when I did I saw her horror, her black disgust. 'Germanicus,' she whispered.

I paled.

'It was you who killed him… it was you!'

I tried to explain. 'It is not as it looks — I did not kill Germanicus.'

'Was he this prophesied king?'

'No, Lady.'

'Who is, then? Sejanus?'

'No, Lady, I swear — '