Luke Devenish - Nest of vipers

I squirmed on the floor.

'Even though I suspect he likes to "edit" certain details,' Livia added.

Sejanus took a tentative step towards the bed. From where I writhed on the floor, I could see that the arousal he had achieved, having been expecting Livilla, had not lessened any upon finding his lover's grandmother instead. I could only admire him for this, despite the peril of my drastically changed circumstances.

'I have divorced Apicata,' Sejanus said.

'Very wise,' said Livia, stretching her slender arms behind her head where she lay. The fabric of her gown slipped beyond her nipples, exposing them. She had the perfect breasts of a virgin. 'I never much enjoyed Apicata. The sightless are so unsettling.'

Sejanus moved closer and the person hidden under the bed curled into a tight, frightened ball. Sejanus knew who was there.

'I suppose you've had a great many lovers in my absence,' Livia offered, coyly. 'I wouldn't blame you for it. I understand a man's needs.'

Sejanus came to rest next to her and took her outstretched hand to his lips, kissing her fingertips. 'No one who compares to you.'

'Oh yes?' said Livia, appearing well pleased. 'No one who compares to me at all?'

'You are my queen,' Sejanus whispered. 'And I thank the gods you have returned to me.'

Livia sighed and let him ease the gown from her body, sliding it down her belly and beyond her hips. She wore no undergarments. Her sex, newly plucked clean of hair, was reborn as the rosebud of a child bride. His fingers stroked before straying to the darker cleft beyond it. She slapped his hand.

'My memory may be in pieces, but yours isn't, my love.' She placed his hand upon her sex again and opened herself for him. 'You know a highborn woman cannot permit the act of beasts. If you need to befoul your lover, you should leave me and seek out a whore.'

He stayed.

In the dust and filth beneath the bed, Livilla lay curled like a baby, her hands pressed against her ears to block out the horrors of this coupling. She had been waiting on top of the bed when she had heard her grandmother's voice in the entrance hall. She had nearly fainted. Then, when she'd heard my domina insisting on waiting for the Praetorian Prefect in his own sleeping room, the naked Livilla had flung herself under the bed in terror of being found.

She believed her grandmother knew nothing of her presence, but she was wrong. Livia knew her granddaughter was there and had known it even before she had made her way from Oxheads to Sejanus's house, with me hobbling by her side. After all, when my beating with the curtain rod had ended, I had been glad to tell my domina of Livilla's many movements.

I had been glad to tell my domina anything.

I was her slave, as she had reminded me with every blow of the rod. This was something I had, apparently, forgotten.

On our short return journey from Sejanus's house to Oxheads, my domina was thoughtful. She said little but didn't neglect to issue me with demeaning instructions. When she reached an area of the road that was splashed with excrement from the windows above, she commanded me to lie in it and then used me as a bridge, walking along my legs and back so as not to stain the hem of her stola. When we passed a brimming fuller's pot, she commanded me to dip my fingers in the urine and taste its suitability to bleach her gowns. The taste of it was indescribable, and the fuller thought my unblinking obedience riotous. When we passed a sore-riddled beggar under a street shrine, my domina commanded me to remove my garments and give them to the wretch, swapping them for his rags. When the stench of all these humiliations became overpowering, she purchased a small vial of gladiolus oil and made me drink it. I choked on the stuff, spewing it down my chest, but I smelled like a flower stall.

'That's much better,' said Livia.

Finally, when we were just inside the Oxheads gates, she asked me what evidence I had that might incriminate her great-grandson Nero. I told her I had many damning things, not the least of which was my record of his shameful intercourse with the victimarius from the Priests' College.

'Make sure it gets to his brother Drusus,' she instructed.

My mind was in complete confusion. 'You wish to aid Livilla's plan?'

'It is really Sejanus's plan, I suspect.'

'And you wish to aid it?'

'It is distressing that you still believe you are deserving of explanations, Iphicles. When you have completed this task, please return to my rooms with another curtain rod. It is clear I must resume my illustration of your worthlessness.'

Sacramentum

January, AD 27

Three months later: the Senate proposes renaming the Caelian Hill the Augustan Hill when a statue of the Emperor is found unscathed by a fire that destroyed fifty houses

It took the boy some time to realise he was not alone in the room. As he waited, frightened in the gloom, the sense that he shared the confines of this strange, unpleasant space grew overwhelming. No sounds alerted him, no touching or smells, but his surety that he had invisible company in the darkness was absolute. He could feel another's mind.

'Who's there?' he whispered.

'Me.'

The boy gasped and then fell to whimpering in fear at whatever agonising fate awaited him. 'Please. Who are you?'

'Who are you?'

This startled him. 'Don't you know?'

'How would I?'

'But I was brought here. Ordered to come.'

'Who ordered it?'

'The Emperor,' the boy whispered.

'Are you the son of a traitor?'

The voice was young — another boy's. Perhaps this stranger was no stronger than he was and could be overpowered? 'My widowed mother was a traitor. She studied witchcraft and consulted with astrologers. She died for it.'

'The Gemonian Stairs?'

'She took poison.'

'How long did it take to kill her?'

'Not long.'

'Interesting.'

He waited for the other boy to say more, but when he didn't, the silence and the blackness proved too much for him. 'Please tell me who you are.'

'Please tell me who you are.'

He gave in. 'I am Aemilius of the Aemilii.'

'Never heard of you.'

This was a strange relief of sorts. 'I am patrician.'

'I suppose you must be, then. How old are you?'

'Fourteen,' said Aemilius.

'Do you have your toga virilis?'

'I was to be given it next week, but then the Emperor's letter came.'

'I wouldn't worry about it, Aemilius.' The other boy crawled along the floor of the pitch-black room, feeling with his hands until he came to the spot where Aemilius crouched. Aemilius cried out when the boy's fingers touched him.

'Stop squawking — I'm not going to hurt you.' The boy crouched by his side. 'Do you know what goes on here?'

'In this room?' said Aemilius, his anxiety rising.

'On this island.'

'My brother Ahenobarbus was sent here before me. He's eight years older than me. He's been here since Saturnalia. Since then we've heard nothing.'

'No. No one does hear much.'

Aemilius's eyes were becoming accustomed to the darkness. The other boy's features were just discernible. He seemed roughly the same age and size as himself, but his hair was fairer. 'Do you know why I've been sent for? And why my brother was sent for?'

'Because you're the sons of a traitor.'

There was a sickening simplicity to the answer, and yet it told Aemilius nothing. 'Do you have a traitor for a parent?'

'My father was a great man,' the other boy replied automatically. 'But my mother has… upset people.'

'Is that why you're here?'

The other boy became conspiratorial. 'My great-grandmother encouraged me to come here.'

Aemilius tried to imagine such a malicious old relative. 'Why would she do that?'

'I'm not really sure,' the boy whispered.