Nest of Vipers

by Luke Devenish

  ‘What will he do?’ Livia purred in my ear. ‘Play the Emperor and play into their hands? Listen to them. They want him to reveal his desire.’

  My heart seemed to beat louder than the crowd’s calls. She was talking to me in confidence again: I could scarcely believe it. ‘Because they love him, domina?’

  She laughed at me. ‘Poor Iphicles, you’ve been in the dirt for far too long. They hate him, you idiot. They loathe him.’

  ‘Then why are they shouting for him?’

  ‘To hand him the rope with which to hang himself.’ My domina’s hands were pressed together as she muttered into the air, ‘Take it, Sejanus! Take the pretty rope!’

  Sejanus stood and the crowd roared its approval. ‘Look now, Iphicles,’ Livia hissed to me, her eyes bright with fire. ‘Look how his doom comes!’

  Sejanus raised his hand high and the gesture was seen for what it was: a plea for silence. The roar ebbed as people held their breaths, in awe of what might happen next. When the arena was hushed, Sejanus regarded the gladiators below for a long time.

  ‘Spare him!’ came a voice from the crowd. ‘He fought bravely! Spare him, Prefect!’

  Sejanus raised his eyes to the crowd.

  ‘Here it comes!’ Livia thrilled.

  ‘No one but the Emperor or the gods,’ declared Sejanus, ‘may decide a gladiator’s fate.’

  A murmur swept through the stands. Would Sejanus declare himself the Emperor-in-waiting?

  ‘The Emperor is not here,’ Sejanus boomed, ‘so we must leave it to the gods.’ Livia’s face fell as Sejanus took an aureus coin from his tunic. ‘Chance is the god!’ He tossed the coin high in the air. Livia left her seat before Sejanus caught it.

  ‘Domina?’

  ‘I am cold. I wish to go home.’

  ‘But domina –’

  ‘Attend me.’

  I scurried to fetch her palla, throwing it around her shoulders as she strode to the exit. She had no interest in whether the coin let the fallen gladiator live or die.

  ‘So he didn’t take the rope,’ I said as we left. ‘Are you really so surprised? When does Sejanus ever put a foot wrong?’

  ‘Quite often, lately.’

  I was astonished. ‘Not in any way that I’ve heard.’

  She sneered. ‘Like I said, Iphicles, you’ve been prone in the dirt too long. He should have played to the crowd. He should have hanged himself. His response was too sensible.’

  She wasn’t speaking a drop of sense to me. ‘Do you know Sejanus at all?’ I asked.

  She didn’t hear my words. ‘Martina will have to up the dose,’ she muttered. ‘He should have been acting far more recklessly than this. It’s embarrassing.’

  ‘Martina?’ I spluttered.

  ‘If it weren’t for her, I’d be flat on my bed with your dummy prick still inside me.’

  I flushed with shame. ‘Domina … ‘

  She waved her hand, dismissing the episode. But when I made to follow her to the litter, she cut me short. ‘Who said you could leave? Go back to the box and be a slave. I have no more use for you.’

  I dropped to the ground. ‘Yes, domina.’ I watched her depart, my heart soaring. At least she was sharing things with me again, however small.

  When I returned to the Imperial seats, I took my place among the other slaves. Lygdus was there. In my joy at Livia’s thaw I felt pleased to see him. It had been more than two years since we had interacted in any way. I had barely seen him since Nero’s arrest; I didn’t even know to which household he had been reassigned.

  ‘How goes it?’ I asked. Our disagreements were all in the past, as far as I was concerned now.

  The look he gave me was haunted and I was shocked by the pain I saw in his face.

  ‘Lygdus?’

  He wouldn’t speak.

  I felt a surge of pity. I sat down where he crouched and placed my arm around his bulk. ‘You must move on from Nero’s fall,’ I said. ‘It has been too long. Your master is exiled. Look only to what is ahead.’

  ‘And what is that?’ he asked. ‘Little Boots?’ A tear rolled down his cheek.

  I couldn’t answer. I did not know. The resurgence of my domina had reminded me that, for a slave, taking actions that had not been ordered was a crime. The prophecies could not be my concern now.

  ‘Nero was a good master – kind, even,’ I said. ‘But the domina is running things now. Bask in her mercy as I do. I was very wrong to take charge, but the domina forgives me. Surrender your will to her, son – surrender your mind. She will forgive you too. Embrace the ignorance you discarded. Be the pet again. I know in my heart that this is best for us slaves.’

  Lygdus’s eyes were red. ‘You called me son?’

  I was caught out – a slip of the tongue. But I had revealed what had long lived inside my heart. My love for Lygdus made me embrace him. ‘Once I was like a father to you, son – let me be that father again.’

  He looked away, but the nod, when it came, told me he had now accepted things.

  Megalesia

  April, AD 30

  One week later: Jesus of Nazareth is

  crucified in Judea for aspiring to be

  King of the Jews

  Albucilla was quietly thrilled that Ahenobarbus’s younger sister had come to her. Having no sisters of her own, and with all her family hooked on the Gemonian Stairs, she wanted nothing so desperately as to belong to the House of the Aemilii. And now here was Domitia treating her as if she did. Nilla, Ahenobarbus’s legitimate wife, had been ignored.

  Albucilla drew her arm around her frightened ‘sister-inlaw’. ‘You must tell me what has upset you, Domitia, and how I can help.’

  ‘No one can help. I am trapped by it.’ Domitia began to cry.

  ‘Trapped by what? What has happened to you?’

  ‘This marriage,’ Domitia said bitterly. ‘It is obscene. Not a marriage at all.’

  Albucilla was alarmed. ‘Is your husband starving you? Is that why you look so thin?’

  ‘Of course not. I’m thin because I have no appetite for food.’

  ‘Oh Domitia.’

  ‘My sister Lepida’s marriage was bad. Her husband ignored her – and worse, he ignored their little girl. I prayed that when my own union came, it would never be with so loveless a husband. My sister is a widow now and she’s never been happier. And here I am imprisoned in my own corner of wedded hell, and it’s a thousand times worse than hers ever was.’

  Albucilla thought she’d guessed what Domitia seemed reluctant to say. ‘Your husband – is he … unable to consummate?’

  Domitia looked up with a start. ‘Of course not. He got that over with on our wedding night. He did his duty and he continues to do it. Even when I weep, he still goes through with it. He knows what’s expected.’

  Albucilla was lost. ‘What is it, then? What does he do to you that’s so bad?’

  ‘It’s what he does to himself.’

  ‘Ah.’ Convinced she had the answer now, Albucilla wondered what Domitia would think if she knew of the pleasure she and Ahenobarbus gained from pain. Domitia was plainly an innocent. She had not received the benefit of an education at Capri. ‘As long as he only hurts himself,’ Albucilla said to her gently, ‘no harm can really come from it. And he promises never to try that stuff on you.’

  Domitia stared at her like she was simple. ‘Try that stuff on me? It is my stuff. He wears my clothes, Albucilla – all my gowns and shoes. He wears my underthings and even my veils. He tries them all on and parades about. He treats me with kindness, constant kindness, but my wardrobe has become his property.’ She sniffed at her stola. ‘Every single thing I wear smells of him!’

  Albucilla wanted to laugh. ‘He’s – he’s a transvestite?’

  ‘If that’s what it’s called, then yes, that’s what he is.’

  ‘Oh Domitia, you’ve got off lightly,’ Albucilla beamed at her. ‘So many wellborn wives end up with real monsters for their grooms.’


  ‘I don’t think you understand,’ Domitia began to say.

  ‘Of course I do. So he puts on your clothes? Let him. What harm does it do? I bet Rome is full of such secretive men.’

  ‘You don’t understand,’ Domitia said again, with an edge to her voice. ‘He is Drusus, the second son of Agrippina, who is locked up in a prison without charge. His older brother, Nero, is already an exile and his younger brother, Little Boots, is a captive on the Emperor’s island.’

  Albucilla was silent.

  ‘My husband is the son of a damned house, the House of Germanicus – damned by Sejanus. My sister believes it is a marriage blessed by Veiovis, but she is wrong. It is devoid of glory. The marriage was meant as a warning to Drusus, a humiliation. I am the daughter of a traitor, and the message meant for my husband was that I am all he is worthy of – a traitor’s seed.’

  Albucilla couldn’t believe this was possible. ‘No, Domitia, surely –’

  ‘Nilla was given the same message. Why else force her to marry my idiot mute brother?’

  ‘Ahenobarbus is a good man –’ Albucilla began.

  Domitia raised a hand. ‘There is another message in the marriage, and it’s meant for me, the traitor’s child.’

  ‘Another?’

  ‘I can be redeemed. I can remove my mother’s stain from myself and from my unborn children. I can then move on. I can gain another marriage, a better one. But only if I show Sejanus my loyalty with a gift.’

  ‘What gift? What do you mean?’

  ‘An accusation,’ Domitia began to weep again, ‘made in public. Declaring my husband’s perversions. Sejanus will be blameless, of course. No one will accuse him of bringing about Drusus’s downfall when I’m the one who’s come out with it.’

  Albucilla stared at Domitia in horror. ‘But that’s evil. It’s a betrayal. A monstrous thing to do to a man for something that causes no harm. With Rome as it is, you’d be sending him to his death.’

  ‘I know,’ Domitia sobbed. ‘I know!’

  Albucilla held her close. ‘Oh Domitia, whatever will you do?’

  ‘I thought you realised.’ Domitia stared at her with shame. ‘I’ve already done it … ‘

  ‘Oh, the shame,’ Livia muttered from the balcony, where she had an uninterrupted view of proceedings. ‘The dreadful shame of it. If my husband Augustus were still alive, I do believe this would kill him again.’

  Even I, observing the scene from her shoulder, thought her commentary a bit much. Especially given she’d poisoned Augustus with her very own hands.

  ‘Poor Drusus. What a vice to choose. If only he’d gone for something less disgusting.’

  ‘Domina, really,’ I admonished.

  In the square below, the weeping Drusus was dragged in chains towards a waiting cart, which would take him to his imprisonment. He was dressed in a woman’s gown – his wife’s.

  ‘Still, I must commend the way the fabric clings to his form,’ said Livia. ‘A very pleasing effect. I can see why he likes it.’

  ‘Domina, you are outrageous. He is your great-grandson.’

  Livia shrugged and turned to go back into her suite. But there was a twinkle in her eye. The arch words and wicked humour were all for my benefit. She was enjoying playing to an acolyte again. And I was enjoying being closer to determining the intentions behind her schemes. I could not ask what they were, of course, but I suspected now that she would tell me in time, when my curiosity had become unbearable.

  Lygdus roused himself at the door, opening it for her. His face still had a haunted look.

  ‘Lygdus, you look like a wraith,’ said Livia, not without sympathy.

  He tried to bow. Tears were dripping down his cheeks.

  ‘My slave,’ said Livia, moved. She cupped her hand under his chin, lifting him up to look at her. His tears wet her fingertips. ‘You must remember that Drusus was the one who brought the carefully recorded details of Nero’s perversions to light. You should be pleased that further perversions have now claimed Drusus. It’s a fitting reward for his treachery, don’t you think?’

  Lygdus broke down.

  ‘Speak to me, slave. Tell me what you feel.’

  ‘I am unable to feel anything but misery at Nero’s unknown fate on Pontia, domina,’ he sobbed.

  ‘Oh dear. Poor slave. It is such a dreadful thing to be haunted by what we do not know. Go and rest on your pallet. I do not need you to serve me today.’

  Crying noisily, Lygdus departed.

  Although I continued to feel great pity for him, I was not surprised to note the speed with which Livia’s own pity dropped away the second he was gone. Emboldened after being so long sublimated, I dared to comment. ‘The “carefully recorded details” that Drusus used against his brother were the ones that Lygdus himself recorded, domina, under my direction.’

  She waited.

  ‘The very details you forced me to eat, letting me think you’d made no copies.’

  She tittered at her past joke.

  ‘Domina, are you torturing Lygdus with purpose?’

  ‘“Torture” is such an inadequate word.’

  ‘Please stop it.’

  She raised her eyebrow at my returning presumption. I was walking a knife edge. One false step could see me gifted to the carnifex.

  ‘I believe, domina, that with time and affection Lygdus will become a useful slave again. After all, he was happy to kill once. Perhaps if my domina eases her treatment of him, Lygdus will be persuaded to kill a second time? And even a third?’

  There was a long silence. Every muscle tensed as I prepared to retrieve the curtain rod upon her command, ready to face her rage. But to my astonishment Livia agreed with me. ‘Lygdus’s “torture”, as you call it, will cease. I can already sense that he will shortly become more useful than he has ever been.’

  Intoxicated by my victory, I threw myself at her feet. She purred with pleasure at my grovelling and took care to tread cruelly upon me as she went to sit at her looking glass. Glowing with pride, I risked a final question from the floor. ‘Dare I ask, domina, whom next you intend employing in your mysterious plans?’

  Admiring her unnaturally youthful reflection, Livia was coy. ‘I feel it will soon be time for Antonia to play her part,’ she replied.

  Equirria

  October, AD 31

  Eighteen months later: the prophet

  Stephen is tried by Sanhedrin priests

  in Judea for blasphemy against the

  Jewish god

  Livilla tended her ailing mother with such a depth of love it shocked her. For her entire life her relationship with Antonia had been one of combat. All Antonia’s attempts to censure and correct Livilla’s wilful nature had been countermanded by sullen resistance during Livilla’s younger years, and then outright refusal once she had married. Whatever feeling Livilla held for her mother was, previously, something she was unable to define. She had certainly hated Antonia at times – she knew that – and had kept many wicked secrets from her, all the while half-hoping that her mother would expose them, if only so she could relish Antonia’s shock.

  But now that Antonia’s decline had become so marked, along with the fall of the House of Germanicus, Livilla’s true love for her mother won through. Her own life was so happy. Everything for which she had hoped and prayed was imminent. Rome would soon nestle in her hand. She could afford to sweep aside the enmity of so many years and tend to her mother as the great matron prepared to board the barge for the Underworld.

  ‘What led her to this state?’ asked Livia, taking the chair next to sleeping Antonia’s bed.

  Livilla sponged her mother’s limbs. ‘I believe a madness gripped her, Grandmother.’

  ‘From a river mist?’

  ‘It could well have been.’

  Livia clicked her tongue. ‘Is that what drove her to write the letters?’

  Livilla hesitated. ‘You know of those?’

  ‘So sad,’ said Livia. ‘Your dear mot
her and my son, the Emperor, were such devoted friends. I think back to when your father was taken from us, Livilla, Tiberius’s dear brother. You were only a child – you can’t be expected to remember it – but they were united in grief, Antonia and he. They became so close. I harboured thoughts that perhaps they’d even marry.’

  ‘How nice that would have been,’ said Livilla, trying to imagine it.

  ‘But now he refuses even to reply to her. So cruel, my son.’

  Livilla was wise enough to say nothing. She pressed the sponge to her mother’s forehead and Antonia stirred a little.

  ‘I suppose her bewilderment at Tiberius’s treatment has led her here?’ said Livia. ‘That and other, equally perplexing, things, perhaps?’

  Livilla stayed silent, sponging her mother’s face. Then Antonia awoke and she saw the ageless woman, whom she had always called friend, at her bedside. ‘Livia?’

  My domina kissed her cheek. ‘Don’t excite yourself. I am here to see how you are. And Livilla has been so kind to me while you slept.’

  Love shone in Antonia’s eyes, filling their dull grey with life. Livilla had often doubted her feelings for her mother, but Antonia’s love, despite the austerity with which it sometimes manifested itself, had never wavered. ‘She has been so stoic, so dignified,’ Antonia whispered.

  Livilla held her mother’s hand.

  ‘So admirable,’ Antonia added. ‘An example for all Rome, my Livilla.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Livia, smiling at her granddaughter. ‘That’s just the word for her. An example.’

  Livilla looked away. The memory of Livia’s lovemaking with Sejanus was still too raw, as was the narrowness with which she herself had escaped exposure.

  ‘Whereas I have fallen to pieces,’ Antonia said. ‘I, who was once so revered.’

  ‘Now, now,’ said Livia. ‘You mustn’t distress yourself with all this.’

  ‘But it’s true. The calamities that have befallen us. Livilla’s poor brother Germanicus, and her fine husband Castor. And then her nephews’ disgrace. Yet my daughter remains a bastion throughout all these trials. And all I can do is grow ill.’