Nest of Vipers

by Luke Devenish

  The attendants stood looking at each other.

  ‘I said remove it.’

  With his eyes closed, slumped against the great alabaster statue of the goddess, the withered husk that was the haruspex Thrasyllus made a gesture with his hand. The attendants saw this and took the grate away. Livia waited inside the hole. After a moment the chief attendant held his face over the side to peer down at her. He was apologetic but felt it was possible the Augusta might have forgotten the other purpose for which the grate was required. She had been so long ‘asleep’.

  ‘It is for the sacrifice to stand on, Augusta,’ he reminded her.

  Livia did not need reminding. ‘I wish there to be nothing between myself and the beast,’ she told him.

  The chief attendant was confused. ‘What if the beast falls inside?’

  ‘Then let it.’

  This was highly dangerous, but the chief attendant could see no other course. Having removed the grate, his assistants waited with the tethered black bull. The beast was docile and silent. The chief signalled for the proceedings to begin.

  Ringed at the dark periphery of the temple’s hall, a group of eunuchs began to strike upon the drums they wore on long strings around their necks. Their rhythm built slowly in pace and noise until they began to sing to it.

  Inside the pit Livia knew the words. The assistants led the huge black bull to the edge while she sang with gusto, reaching inside her gown. Just as the chief attendant raised his knife to strike at the bull’s throat, Livia pulled out a blade of her own, sprang to her feet and plunged it deep into the bull’s soft flesh before whipping the blade in an arc, slicing the creature’s throat open. The chief attendant dropped his own knife in shock. Thick, rich blood gushed onto Livia as she continued to sing, filling her upturned mouth. She lost her footing and slipped in the gore, just as the dying beast fell forward into the hole, landing on top of her. Her face was pressed hard against the wound she had made, the blood gushing from the bull’s throat into hers.

  Yet she knew she would not drown. She knew her bones would not be broken. She knew this was how Cybele would re-enter her, empowering her once again for the tasks ahead.

  Livia came to consciousness to find she was lying on the temple floor before the great alabaster statue of Cybele. The eunuchs and the attendants were gone. She was slick with the bull’s blood; she had been retrieved from the taurobolium pit with great difficulty. The only way to reach her was by dismembering the bull, and every last drop of the creature’s blood had drizzled onto her while they hacked away before she was finally pulled free. This was wholly as Livia had intended.

  Reorientated as to where she was, she at once sat up. The withered haruspex was slumped in his place at the statue’s base, but now he held the guts of a pigeon in his fists. There was not another living thing inside the temple with them. Livia and Thrasyllus were entirely alone.

  ‘Who is the second king?’ Livia asked him.

  Thrasyllus told her.

  ‘Who is the child who will rule?’

  Thrasyllus told her that too, never opening his eyes as he explained the difference. Livia nodded. These were the same answers she had already received in her dreams.

  ‘Tell me who the goddess lets live and who she lets die,’ said Livia. ‘Tell me their fates. Tell me the worst of it. Prepare me for what I must do.’

  Thrasyllus spoke with a voice that was not his own.

  ‘The son with blood, by water’s done, the truth is never seen.

  The third is hooked by a harpy’s look – the rarest of all birds.

  The course is cooked by a slave-boy’s stroke; the fruit is lost with babes.

  The matron’s words alone are heard, the addled heart is ringed.

  The one near sea falls by a lie that comes from the gelding’s tongue.

  The doctor’s lad will take the stairs, from darkness comes the wronged,

  No eyes, no hands and vengeance done, but worthless is the prize.

  One would-be queen knows hunger’s pangs when Cerberus conducts her.

  One brother’s crime sees him dine at leisure of his bed.

  One would-be queen is one-eyed too until the truth gives comforts.

  When tiny shoes a cushion brings, the cuckoo’s king rewarded.

  Your work is done, it’s time to leave – the sword is yours to pass.

  Your mother lives within this queen: she who rules beyond you.

  The end, the end, your mother says – to deception now depend.

  So long asleep, now sleep once more, your Attis is Veiovis.’

  Livia sat still for a long time. She was surprised by very little of what was said and shocked by nothing. At last she rose and made her way towards Thrasyllus. There were tears of gratitude in her eyes.

  ‘The goddess continues to bless my house,’ she whispered. ‘Thank you, haruspex.’ She stooped to where he was slumped against the statue’s whiteness and pressed her lips to his eyes. When they opened, it was Cybele herself he saw smiling before him.

  ‘Thank you, Great Mother,’ he whispered.

  Livia raised her blade and hacked his head from his shoulders with a single slice. The head didn’t stop rolling before the flesh had dissolved in front of Livia’s eyes. It came to rest at the pit’s edge a clean, dry skull. She kicked it inside as she passed, making her way to the door.

  In the clear autumn sunlight upon the temple steps two women rose to greet her. She had been expecting them.

  ‘My friends,’ said Livia. She kissed Martina first and the sorceress shimmered in the light. She carried a basket of food. ‘How thoughtful,’ said Livia, taking a piece of bread.

  ‘You look well rested,’ said Martina.

  ‘And so I should be.’

  She kissed Plancina next, wrapping her fingers around the stumps of her old friend’s wrists. ‘How have you been getting on with these?’

  ‘As well as can be expected,’ said Plancina.

  Livia smiled coyly. ‘Well, here we all are.’

  The three sat together on the steps in the sun and began eating the food.

  ‘Did the haruspex have much to tell you, then?’ asked Martina, her mouth full.

  ‘This and that.’

  ‘This and that? So he didn’t have much at all?’

  Plancina knew her friend better. ‘Just look at Livia’s shining eyes. Thrasyllus told her a great many things before she cut his head off. Didn’t he, Livia?’

  Livia had to laugh. ‘You read me like a poem, Plancina.’

  ‘Out with it then,’ said Martina. ‘We haven’t got all day.’

  Livia told them. When she was done, they sat in silence for a minute more, considering the first of their schemes. When it was planned, another was hatched, and then another quickly afterwards, and then another scheme again. Soon all the plans were in place but one. The food was consumed and they stood up on the steps to leave.

  ‘What about that ball-less prick, your Iphicles?’ asked Martina. ‘He’s got it coming to him, after everything he’s done to you.’

  Livia coolly agreed. Then she told them what she had in mind for me.

  The wicked friends laughed. Both agreed it was apt.

  Equirria

  October, AD 26

  Two weeks later: the freedman Atilius,

  gamesmaster of the catastrophe at

  Fidenae, is sentenced to exile

  Naked and glistening with oil, the aged Emperor Tiberius dived from the very highest rock in his grotto into the heated pool of springwater in a strong, graceful arc that was at odds with his advanced state of physical decay. Such athleticism should have killed him, yet it didn’t. But if the pool had been in Rome, it would have. In the foul eternal city his body failed him daily, made rank with his stenches and pockmarked with his sores. There, Tiberius would throw the mirrors from his rooms in frenzy, screaming to be rid of his own reflection. But it was pointless. With every creaking step and sharp crack of flatulence his body signalled its imminent
demise, and all while his mother gave the appearance of having lost decades. Yet here on the island of Capri Tiberius’s destruction seemed less of a certainty. Perhaps it was the ‘minnows’?

  Tiberius shot to the water’s surface, shouting and laughing. The little creatures darted all around him, pecking at his limbs with their tiny puckered lips, nibbling at his privates with their harmless little teeth.

  ‘The darlings!’ Tiberius called out in happiness to his beloved Sejanus. The Praetorian Prefect smiled from the side of the grotto pool, his cloak around his shoulders against the chill night air. In the luxury of the heated water Tiberius didn’t feel the winter. Nor did his minnows. The Emperor giggled like an infant as they continued pressing their mouths to him beneath the water surface, licking and kissing his flesh. He flung his hands about, splashing and waving, and didn’t see which ring it was that flew from his dripping fingers. Sejanus saw. The ring shot high into the air, coming to rest at the edge of the pool. Sejanus stooped to pick it up, while Tiberius began his favourite game of trying to trap an unwary minnow between his knees.

  Sejanus moved to where the candles burned in the grotto wall and felt for some soft, fresh wax. He found a likely lump and rolled it in his palm, letting it cool a little. Playfully, Tiberius caught a minnow that was slow in darting away, screaming with laughter as the creature thrashed between his legs.

  ‘You’ve got to be quicker than that!’ Tiberius laughed. The minnow’s thrashing lessened, but Tiberius held fast.

  Sejanus pressed the ring into the wax and kept it there for a moment, making sure the seal left an impression that was clear. He withdrew it and peered at the result. It was a perfect print. ‘Your ring, Father,’ he called to the pool.

  With only mild consternation Tiberius realised his Imperial seal was missing. ‘You have it there?’

  ‘It flew from your finger.’

  ‘I must be losing weight,’ said Tiberius. ‘My fingers are getting thinner.’ He released the minnow from between his knees and swam to the pool’s edge. Sejanus handed the ring to him. ‘It’s all this good living here on Capri,’ Tiberius said. ‘I’m feeling fitter every day.’

  ‘It’s because there is nothing to worry you here, Father,’ said Sejanus. ‘That’s what restores your good health. Rome and its traitors are far away.’

  When Sejanus had saved his life in the rockfall, Tiberius knew he had been wrong to feel anything less than love for his Prefect. ‘I have a mind not to return to Rome. What do you think?’ The unmoving body of the minnow rose to the water’s surface behind him.

  ‘I think it’s an excellent idea. And who knows, Father – perhaps if you stay here on the island you will live on forever?’

  ‘Perhaps I will …’ Tiberius pondered. He turned to see the minnow floating in the water in front of him. The mouths of the others gaped in fear from the surface, dragging in air before diving again to resume their nibbling. Tiberius stared at the face of the lifeless child. ‘She is familiar …’

  ‘Who is?’ Sejanus studied the ring print in the wax.

  ‘This minnow.’

  Sejanus glanced once at the girl. ‘She was one of the Patrician Youth Choir – the last of them, Father.’

  Tiberius felt a distinct twinge of sadness, but it was gone before it could trouble him. As a precaution against its returning, he reached for his cup of the Eastern flower. He drank and was aware of the nibbling again. ‘Aren’t all these other little minnows from the choir?’

  ‘No, Father,’ said Sejanus, immune to the Emperor’s depravity. ‘These other children were taken from parents who were traitors.’

  ‘I dislike seeing the minnows’ numbers decrease. Find more for me, Sejanus.’

  The Prefect nodded, still studying the wax print of the ring. ‘Anything you wish, Father.’

  When the Emperor and his Prefect had gone, a red-headed youth crept out of the grotto’s shadows and knelt beside the pool’s edge. The girl lay still upon the steps, half in the water, half out. The youth had seen her struggles and had wanted more than anything to help her, but he had been too frightened. Then, when she had floated lifeless to the surface, he had wept in silence and shame from his hiding place in the dark. But once the Emperor had gone, the red-haired youth had seen what they had missed. Her chest had risen. She had taken air.

  But now nothing moved. He placed his ear against her breast and it was still. He listened to her insides. There was no sound. Looking about him, his eyes fell on the burning candles. He crept to the grotto wall and took a waxy stump from its nook, protecting the flame with his fingers. It was beautiful. Just like the girl.

  Kneeling beside her again, the red-haired youth held the candle above her. He tilted his hand and a drop of liquid wax struck her skin. The girl stayed still. He tilted the candle further, letting the yellow flame itself caress her.

  The girl awoke with a shout.

  She was frightened when she saw him and realised what he had done. But when he made her see that she’d almost died and that his flame had saved her from Hades, she was grateful. But the island prison had corrupted her. She knew of no other way to thank the youth than to place his pale, white hand between her legs.

  Her name was Albucilla, she told him.

  Red-haired Ahenobarbus of the Aemilii could not tell her his name, although he wished to all the gods that he could. Even if he hadn’t been born a mute, he suspected, he would have lost the power of speech anyway, such was the strength of Albucilla’s earthy beauty.

  ‘I don’t want it.’

  ‘But you must have it. You’re already fourteen.’

  ‘I don’t care – I don’t want it. Are you deaf, Iphicles? I’m not going to tell you again.’ Although Little Boots’s anger was aimed wholly at me, his continued jealousy of Lygdus was such that he made sure his spittle struck the eunuch’s face too, even though the matter had nothing to do with my apprentice. We three stood waiting for Livia to emerge from her suite.

  ‘But it’s your toga virilis – your robe of manhood. To refuse it is not done, domine.’

  ‘Not if I refuse to be a man. I’m a child.’

  ‘You’re nearly fifteen.’

  He kicked me in the shin.

  ‘Domine!’

  He took off down the hall before I could chase him.

  ‘Come back! The Augusta has requested to see you.’

  ‘You’re just a fucking slave!’

  He was gone, leaving me clutching my poor shin, aghast. ‘What’s the matter with him?’ I asked Lygdus. ‘He’s becoming unmanageable.’

  ‘Becoming?’ said Lygdus with sarcasm. He wiped Little Boots’s spittle from his cheek.

  ‘He still has the greatest respect for me, Lygdus. We are bonded.’

  ‘You’re deluding yourself, just as you have deluded yourself about everything.’

  Tears rushed to my eyes and I had to blink them back. ‘You are so hurtful, Lygdus. You never spoke to me this cruelly before.’

  ‘Before what?’ He knew the answer but wanted me to say it.

  I just stared at him, heartbroken.

  ‘Before what, Iphicles? Before the domina recovered?’

  ‘Yes,’ I whispered, ashamed. ‘You know it.’

  ‘Well, she has recovered and everything has changed – for you more than anyone. And I am glad.’ He leaned forward, mocking me with his look. ‘When will she take her revenge on you? What form will it take? Will it be agonising?’

  ‘Lygdus.’ A sob left my lips.

  ‘You led me into evil,’ he hissed.

  ‘It was evil for the sake of a greater good.’

  ‘No, it wasn’t. And it will never happen again. It’s Little Boots we should have killed with the footbath water, not Castor.’

  ‘But the prophecies –’

  ‘They’ve been twisted by your lies. Just ask the domina. I already have, as it happens.’

  ‘You’ve been speaking to her without me there to protect you?’

  ‘
Cybele came to her, after all, not to you.’ Lygdus bent to whisper in my ear. ‘And she has come to her again. I don’t need you to hold my hand, Iphicles,’ he laughed. ‘The domina likes me. She tells me secrets.’ He stood in contemptuous silence while I gave in to my tears. Then he passed me a small square of linen from his tunica pocket to wipe my eyes.

  ‘You shouldn’t concern yourself with it,’ he said, with something of his old friendliness. ‘Your time has passed, that is all. You are tired and spent. It is not surprising you have so vilely misinterpreted things – and acted with such incompetence, too. It is understandable and even forgivable. But the domina needs youth and vigour now to complete her work, which of course you understand. Cybele has chosen a new Attis.’

  I gasped. Then I burned with raw anger. ‘Go!’ I spat at him. ‘Leave me alone. The domina sent for me to bring Little Boots to her, not you. So go!’

  Lygdus didn’t move. ‘The domina summoned me here about another matter.’

  ‘What could that possibly be?’ I demanded.

  Lygdus looked at me pityingly.

  ‘Tell me!’

  ‘Ah, Lygdus,’ said Livia. ‘Here you are.’ She had appeared silently at the door of her suite while we argued. We threw ourselves to the floor.

  ‘No need for that,’ she said. ‘We are all friends.’

  Lygdus clambered upright again but the look she gave me when I followed him made me stay where I was.

  ‘What have you brought me?’ she asked him.

  ‘Information,’ Lygdus whispered. His tone was grave.

  I couldn’t see his face from my position, but Livia’s tone at once echoed his earnestness. ‘My chair, then, while I try to find the fortitude to hear it, slave.’

  She wasn’t talking to Lygdus. She meant me. Burning, I crawled on my belly to the wall where a chair rested and dragged the thing back to her while still prone. Livia sat down before I’d pulled my hand from beneath the chair’s leg, and a pinch of my skin was caught between the leg and the floor. Livia made no attempt to free me.

  ‘Now, your information, Lygdus. Does it involve my great-grandson Drusus, as I feared?’

  ‘Yes, domina.’