Luke Devenish - Nest of vipers

'Were they ghosts?' Nilla whispered.

Burrus stared into the shadows. 'Your brother is not a ghost.'

'What if he's really dead? What if they're all dead here? What if this is hell?'

'This is the Emperor's own island,' said Burrus. 'If it's hell, then it's a hell made to torment the living.'

'We can reach the boat again,' said Nilla. 'They've lost interest in us. If we move like serpents and don't make a sound, we'll escape this place and come back with men to save my sisters.'

He nodded. But when Burrus took his first step outside the grove, they knew they were deceived. The carpet of leaves hid a net, which sprang up and around him, hoisting him high in the trees. He thrashed and kicked but the net held tight. The pursuers showed themselves, the beasts who were the children of traitors. They were unclothed. Nilla tried to flee in the hope they would follow her but their hands held her fast, a dozen hands it seemed at first, until they fell away and two hands remained, gripping her tight by the arms. They were the hands of the unclothed Emperor. His nakedness was before her.

'Look what happens,' said Tiberius. His eyes were huge in the moonlight, shining like glass. He did not blink. 'Look what happens to him now.'

The naked boys thrust spears at Burrus in the net. The tips nicked his flesh, drawing fine red trickles of blood.

'Aren't the boys clever?' said Tiberius. 'They never kill unless I order it.'

The blood dripped upon her face like the start of an autumn shower.

'Does it hurt him, do you think?' Tiberius wondered.

Nilla's senses left her. Although she screamed, she could not hear it. Although she saw, the image was lost. The Emperor's hands stayed firm upon her arms and she was led away without knowing where she went or caring what befell her when she got there.

'How old are you, child?'

'Twelve, Grandfather.'

'And Julilla?'

'She is nine.'

'That's much too young.'

She stumbled and fell but the Emperor didn't notice. His fist gripped her arm, now pulling her like a straw doll.

'How old is Drusilla?'

'She is eleven.'

'She's far too young as well, if we are to be seemly about it.'

'Yes, Grandfather.'

'If you are twelve, then it really must be you, Nilla. There's no one else.'

Her feet made furrows in the earth behind her. She had no will to resist him as he pulled her like a plow. The leaves and twigs beneath her became flowers. They had arrived in his garden again. 'Here we are,' said Tiberius. He released his hold and Nilla slumped upon her face, tasting the soil.

'Everything will be arranged,' said Tiberius. 'We have been looking forward to it. Sometimes the days get dull. We need novelty and lightness of heart to inspire us, and this will be perfect. Tomorrow I will write a letter to your mother, informing her of it all. What a thing to bring everyone together. And he's really very keen. We've been discussing it at great length, you know.'

Nilla couldn't lift her head. The soil felt comforting beneath her cheek and she wondered if she was not on Capri at all but at home in her bed. 'Who is he, Grandfather?'

'Have I not made things clear to you, Nilla?'

'No, Grandfather.'

'He is the one who will kiss you forever.'

Burrus's name parted her lips but she would not whisper it. From her bed upon the soil she saw the form of a man rise from the flowers. He was unclothed, just like the Emperor and his beasts. He came before her, studying her silently, before crouching to stroke her hair where she lay. His hands were gentle.

'Who is he, Grandfather?'

Tiberius stared at the stars, unblinking.

The stroking man had red pubic hair. It glowed like a forest fire.

'Please, Grandfather. Who is he?'

The Emperor's eyes were like small white stones. 'Ahenobarbus of the Aemilii,' he said. 'He is your groom, Nilla.'

The Ides of February

AD 27

One week later: seeking to disarm criticism of his absence from Rome, Emperor Tiberius Julius Caesar Augustus distributes compensation money to victims of the calamities at Fidenae and the Caelian Hill

The fishermen at Surrentum saw the corpse that had washed up in the night. Knowing it was just another drowned sailor, they paid little heed as they prepared for the dawn's catch. Then one man made the observation that the corpse was well dressed — the dead sailor's tunica was sewn from good quality linen, dyed sky-blue. How many sailors were dressed like that? Then another man remarked that perhaps it was not a sailor at all, but a hapless passenger washed overboard. Perhaps the passenger still had his purse?

The three fishermen went to give the corpse closer attention but were disappointed. The corpse wore a slave's collar. This was not a passenger at all, but some rich man's lost property. Two of the three men returned to preparing their boat, but the third fisherman lingered, staring at the corpse. The dead lad was handsome and all too young. It was a sad waste of life, slave or not. The fisherman stooped to scrape the weed from the face and saw a seal that hung from the iron collar. It stirred something in his memory. Before his retirement he had spent long years cooking dinners for the legions.

'That seal is from the House of Germanicus.'

He called out to his colleagues that he knew where the dead slave came from, but when he turned to look at the lad again the situation was changed. The slave's eyes were open. The boy was alive.

The fishermen stood in a circle, debating what to do while the waves continued to lap at Burrus's limbs. He could not move them. He could not sit up. He could only stare. When the children of the traitors had thrown him from the Capri cliff, they had expected him to drown. But they did not know him. Burrus had been lost to the waves before. He could swim like Neptune himself.

The fishermen decided. They would take the slave fishing with them. Better that than leave him here for some other bastard to find. They would see if he revived enough to tell them how he came to be washed up on the promontory when he belonged to so great a house. If they were satisfied with his answers, they would endeavour to return him to Rome. No doubt there was a reward waiting there. But if they were dissatisfied with his answers, then he would become the fishermen's slave and no more would be said about his origins.

When they picked up Burrus to lug him onto the boat, a word left his lips. 'Nilla…'

They did not know what he meant and asked him to repeat it. He was unable.

The fishermen pondered the word. Was it a place, perhaps? The name of a villa by the sea? Or was it a person? His mother, maybe? All lads were known to bawl for their mamas when near to death.

The youngest of the fishermen had another view. Nilla was the name of some girl, he said. She was why the slave was half-drowned. His heart was broken by her and he had tried to end it all. The other men liked this theory, and when they put it to Burrus he did not have the strength to do anything more than look at them. Sentimental, like all ex-soldiers, the fishermen decided this story would do for Burrus until a better one sufficed. It cast him in a light they rather liked.

As the men began to sail from the shore, Burrus vowed in his heart that the first thing he would do when he was able would be to assure them he would never 'end it all' while his Nilla lived. She gave him the will for life, not death, no matter what the Fates decreed for him. While she walked on this earth, so would he. Only when Nilla was gone would he kill himself. It would be his privilege to join her in death.

Agonalia

March, AD 28

Thirteen months later: Titius Sabinus, friend of the widow Agrippina, is arrested for treasonous remarks made in the privacy of his own tablinum. The ceiling is found to conceal a paid informant