Empress Of Rome 1: Den Of Wolves

by Luke Devenish

  Once inside, she listened to the air being drawn into Livia’s lungs – a movement so slight you could rest a feather on her lips. Apicata placed her hands on my domina’s form, caressing her flesh. Livia was soft and warm. She laid her fingers on Livia’s head and pulled the hairs at her temple, feeling the skin stretching from the skull. This was a girlish torture intended to make any victim wince. But when no reaction came, Apicata fumbled for the skin at my domina’s throat, taking a handful of it in her sharp-nailed fingers and crushing it like a square of silk. If she’d had her sight she would have seen the bruise this caused. But still there was no reaction from the sleeper, nor would there have been if Apicata had taken a knife to my domina’s wrists and hacked off her hands. Livia was now upon this earth in body only. In spirit she was elsewhere, sent there in secret by me, who loved her most.

  ‘So long asleep …’ Apicata whispered.

  ‘She fascinates you, doesn’t she?’ I said from the door.

  Apicata stood upright. She hadn’t heard me enter – a rare lapse for her.

  ‘Don’t be frightened,’ I said, approaching. ‘I am only a slave.’

  But Apicata wasn’t frightened. She studied me intensely, as if her eyes still saw light. ‘I know who you are,’ she said. ‘You’re Livia’s creature – the one who doesn’t age.’

  I was flattered, being then over seventy years old. Most people at Oxheads believed me to be no more than forty at that time.

  ‘Livia was ageless too,’ said Apicata, ‘but the skin at her throat is like a soft leather bag. Has age caught up with her, creature?’

  ‘It has,’ I confirmed, but I didn’t tell her that the years would melt away again if I allowed my domina to wake up. ‘What fascinates you so much about her, Lady?’

  ‘It’s repulsion, not fascination.’ Apicata made to leave but I prevented her. She gasped at my daring to touch her.

  ‘I’ve seen you in here before,’ I said. ‘Of course it’s fascination. I’ve observed you stroking my domina and smelling her flesh. I even saw you place your hand between her thighs.’

  Apicata drew breath, saying nothing.

  ‘I told you not to be frightened, and I meant it,’ I said. ‘I am fascinated too – by you, Lady.’

  I could tell that Sejanus’s blind wife was considering whether to scream for a guard, but I knew she wouldn’t.

  ‘How did this happen, then?’ she said to me at last. ‘This strange state she exists in. She’s neither dead nor alive, but she’s breathing. How did it happen to her?’

  The answer was simple. I had achieved the thing I had longed for since I had gazed upon my domina for the very first time, six decades before – I had entered Livia’s sex and taken her forcefully. But with my useless eunuch’s prick I’d had to employ a phallus, and the poison I smeared on the thing had reduced Livia to this state. But I told Apicata nothing of that. Nor did I tell her why I had done it, which was somewhat more complicated. ‘It is a mystery,’ was all I said.

  Of course, this was not enough for Apicata. ‘Is someone scheming against her?’ she asked. ‘Is this some plot, creature?’

  I shrugged, then remembering she couldn’t see I repeated that I was only a slave – how should I know? ‘Rome is full of so many intrigues, Lady.’

  Apicata again made to leave, and this time I stood aside, although I suspected she had more to say. I was right. ‘My husband used to pleasure your domina, did you know that, creature?’

  ‘I did know,’ I told her, although I had only learned of it at the very end of their illicit liaison. ‘She took joy in his attentions – she praised the girth of him,’ I added, conjecturing. I wanted to see what game Apicata was playing with me.

  But she merely nodded. ‘He pleasured her with my encouragement. The Augusta Livia was lonely – a sad state for such a great lady. I saw it as a civic service to make her feel loved again.’

  I wanted to laugh. Livia had intended to kill Sejanus during their final encounter, and Apicata certainly hadn’t been privy to that. But my own plans had diverged from Livia’s by then and I couldn’t allow her to do it. I needed Sejanus alive, so Livia took the poison in his place.

  ‘Sejanus was very shocked when this happened to her,’ said Apicata. ‘It upset him.’

  ‘My domina will wake again one day,’ I lied, ‘and perhaps when she does she will find things changed – and changed in a way that pleases her. And perhaps she will remember her pleasures again, too, and the friends who think fondly of her still.’

  Apicata said nothing for a moment and I feared I’d been too oblique. I wanted her to think of us as allies, not enemies.

  ‘It is nice to have friends,’ she said at last, then she felt her way to the door and left me.

  I stared after Apicata for a few moments, letting my eyes lose focus while I gathered my thoughts. Then a figure crept into my peripheral vision, startling me. It was my young master, Little Boots.

  ‘You should be in bed, domine,’ I admonished him.

  ‘But the blind woman creeps around the halls and wakes me up,’ he said.

  ‘How could she wake you up when you’re supposed to be sleeping inside your mother’s house?’

  ‘I still heard her.’

  Lies, of course. Little Boots had stolen out of bed purely to see me, using the slaves’ tunnels that linked the Imperial family’s various houses. I indulged him and patted a chair for him to sit upon. Little Boots did so, pulling his knees up to his chin, while I set about preparing my domina for the night.

  ‘So, did you hear my talk with the Prefect’s wife?’ I asked as I rubbed a salve on the bruise Apicata had left at my domina’s throat.

  He had heard every word, the monkey. ‘The choking has upset Sejanus,’ he said, matter-of-factly. If Little Boots had shed any tears for his hapless cousin Hector, he was over them now. ‘What do you think Sejanus will do? It must have wrecked his plans.’

  I answered that it must have wrecked them badly, even though neither of us knew what Sejanus’s plans were. All we knew for certain was that Sejanus had so far caused the death of Little Boots’s father, Germanicus, who was the Emperor’s nephew and adopted son. This secret murder, which had so devastated Little Boots’s mother, older brothers and younger sisters, had left Little Boots himself far from grieved. He had loved his father, but he loved the idea of his father being dead even more. It was because of the prophecies, about which I shall speak more in time.

  ‘It is my guess,’ I pondered, ‘that because Sejanus has seen that your father’s murder will never be traced back to him, he’ll only grow bolder in his wickedness.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Little Boots, nodding – very sagely for his eight years.

  ‘And with his hopes ruined to marry his daughter into your family, he’ll have anger and humiliation in his heart.’

  ‘That’s good then, isn’t it?’ said Little Boots, his eyes shining at the thought.

  ‘Well, yes,’ I had to agree. ‘Good for what you and I must achieve with even greater secrecy than Sejanus, domine,’ I added.

  He dismissed my caution. ‘I want to be the second prophesied king right now, Iphicles. I’m sick of waiting. There are things I want to do to Rome.’

  ‘You’re too young right now. You don’t know enough yet.’

  ‘There have been kings in Egypt younger than me.’

  ‘And they were murdered for it.’

  That quietened him for a moment. Then his eyes were shining again. ‘Who’s going to be murdered next in Rome? My big brothers, do you think? Nero next? Or Drusus?’

  ‘It’s a terrible thing to hear you hope for their deaths so casually,’ I said.

  He was incredulous, pointing an accusing finger at my sleeping domina. ‘You helped her kill more people than I can count on my hands – and all just to put my grandfather Tiberius on the throne.’

  ‘Be quiet,’ I hissed. ‘Your grandfather was prophesied, too.’

  ‘He’s not much of a king.’

 
‘Little Boots!’

  He was unrepentant. ‘I bet you talked about your murders all the time – especially with that hunchback witch who used to mix up all the poisons.’

  ‘Quieten down. You only know these dreadful things because I told you when I was ill and raving, domine.’

  ‘I nursed you back to health.’

  ‘Yes, yes, and I’m very grateful.’

  ‘That was when you told me I was a god – and that you were one too.’

  Not for the first time, I regretted how much I had told Little Boots in my illness. ‘My divine state is no business of yours.’

  ‘My divine state is. The old soothsayer said I was divine too. I was there when he said it, remember?’

  I threw my domina’s ointment down and stalked across the room to grip him hard by the shoulders, shaking him. ‘Now, listen. Perhaps you will be divine but you are not divine yet – you are only a boy, and not a very nice boy either, and certainly not a boy who is worthy of a throne.’

  He stared in shock at me.

  ‘You will wear the crown that was meant for your murdered father – it was prophesied – but your father was loved by all of Rome. It breaks my heart that he was not the chosen one – he deserved to rule – and it certainly broke my domina’s heart. Your father would have been a good and honest king, but it was not to be and that’s all there is to it. So …’ I stared hard at him. ‘Will you be loved, Little Boots?’

  He went to answer but I shook him again. ‘Not if you carry on like this, you won’t. You must look in your heart, domine, and think hard on how the people will love you. Nothing is guaranteed. If you gain the throne tomorrow, you’d still be “the prophesied” but you wouldn’t last a minute. Not one minute.’

  I released him and he was silent for a long time. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said at last. ‘You are right, Iphicles.’

  It was a concession from him – not something I received very often. Affection overcame me and I hugged him. ‘You’ll be a glorious king one day, Little Boots,’ I whispered. ‘Just let your loving Iphicles help you become it.’

  He kissed my cheek.

  ‘Now. Your older brothers,’ I said, breaking the hug. ‘The first thing for you to learn is that even though they’re marked for death, we must never disrespect them or make jokes about it. If we do, they’ll learn of it, and then we’ll be the first ones they visit when they come back as shades.’

  ‘Do the ghosts of all the others haunt you, Iphicles?’

  ‘No,’ I answered truthfully. ‘I loved and respected all those I led towards death, but I did what I did because prophecy demanded it – and because my domina demanded it. I did nothing for pleasure or excitement or revenge. All those who died would have learned the reasons for my actions when they went to the Underworld – and it would have helped them rest, knowing why they had to die. Plus I always spit the beans.’ My decades-long habit of spitting mouthfuls of black beans during Lemuria – the festival of the dead – always proved very effective against ghosts. ‘I advise you to try spitting them too, Little Boots.’

  He nodded again.

  ‘Your older brothers’ deaths will not be easy to achieve,’ I went on. ‘Your poor mother has got them so surrounded by loyal slaves and protectors that poison could never be administered.’

  ‘I’ll help get it through,’ Little Boots suggested.

  I slapped his hand. ‘You will not.’

  ‘You can get it through, then,’ he said. ‘You’re a very cunning slave.’

  I slapped his other hand. ‘And end up being fed to the bears? Some good I’ll be to you then.’

  Little Boots turned petulant. ‘I want my brothers murdered now, Iphicles – they’re standing in my way!’

  ‘What have I just been saying to you? Respect and patience.’

  He tried not to look sulky, even though he was, and I retrieved my domina’s wooden phallus from its chest, wrapped in its silk shroud. ‘Keep going on like this and Sejanus will think of poisoning you next,’ I told him.

  ‘He wouldn’t –’

  ‘He will in time, if he wants the throne – and what else would he want? You’re an obstacle in his path, just like your poor brothers are.’

  Little Boots was on the verge of tears. ‘But I don’t want to die …’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ I said. ‘Your poor mother keeps you protected too – Sejanus will never be able to poison you either.’

  ‘But you have to give me extra protection, Iphicles.’

  ‘Then you should stop sneaking out of bed at night.’

  Chastened, he shut up. I was right, of course. He would become Sejanus’s target. It was inevitable.

  ‘So who will it be then?’ he whispered to me after a few minutes. ‘Who will Sejanus murder next?’

  I smeared the special ointment on my domina’s phallus and was ready to put it to its purpose. ‘You know the answer to that,’ I said. ‘If you don’t, then you’re even sillier than you’d have me believe.’

  He stuck out his bottom lip, but I could tell that he knew the answer.

  ‘So our job is to see if we can help Sejanus in his next murder without being discovered ourselves. And then we’ll help him with the one after that, and then the one after that. And then, when everyone with the blood of the Claudii in their veins has been killed off except you, we will kill Sejanus himself and you’ll be king. Simple.’ There was nothing simple about it, of course. Six decades of such carnage had taught me that. But at least we had prophecy on our side.

  Little Boots smiled, feeling happy. ‘I’ll go back to my bed and see if my dreams can give me clues.’ With that he vanished into the gloom.

  Alone again with my domina, I began my nightly ritual of easing the smeared phallus inside her to maintain her endless sleep. I congratulated myself at how my approaching divinity had brought me such cleverness. My domina would never wake up – I could promise it – and when we were eventually reunited upon Olympus I knew she would forgive me for everything I had done – and everything I would do. It was from her Claudian womb that four great kings had been prophesied to spring. The glories of their reigns were and would be entirely for my domina. Her son Tiberius, the first of the four, had been placed on the throne by Livia herself. But she had been naive to think the other three would owe their ascendency to her efforts alone. After all, no one had received greater schooling as her apprentice than I.

  If it hadn’t been the day of young Hector’s death, perhaps I would have had my wits better about me. I was distracted, my mind on Little Boots and the prophecies and Rome. I wasn’t paying attention to my domina’s slender hands. Livia was lost with Somnus in her dreams, her body no longer hers to control, and yet, impossibly, as I gently wielded the implement that kept her in this state, her useless fingers, so long lifeless by her sides, slowly began to curl into tight, hard fists.

  She no longer slept as soundly as I intended.

  *

  Sejanus squatted on the floor among the ruins of the wedding banquet, his head cradled in the hands that had broken the neck of his young son-in-law. It was no surprise to him to hear Castor’s voice – barely a whisper – seep inside his ear, as it always did when fate brought him low. He had been expecting it – almost hoping for it; how could Castor resist the urge?

  ‘My father calls you “the partner in my labours”,’ Castor’s voice whispered, and Sejanus imagined his enemy’s lips speaking from just behind his ear. It was almost as if he could have turned and kissed them if he wished – or bitten them off.

  ‘My father’s partner,’ Castor’s voice repeated. ‘How consoling that must be. Clutch it as you clutch the pretty Praetor’s insignia he gave you, Sejanus, and take comfort from these things. They’re all that will ever comfort you. You can be his partner, after all, but not his son, and never his heir.’

  Sejanus stiffened, but he wouldn’t open his eyes. He wouldn’t acknowledge Castor’s voice as the phantom that it was. It suited Sejanus at times like this to think of the ph
antom’s whisperings as real.

  ‘What a blow the boy’s death must have been to your hopes of marrying into my family,’ Castor’s voice went on. ‘It’s best if you give up that dream now.’ Sejanus imagined the sound of Castor breathing deeply through the nose, then stopping abruptly, as if detecting a thing he disliked. ‘No matter how many Claudian princes you marry your brats to, you’ll never scrub the stink of the kitchens from your hair.’

  Sejanus opened his eyelids only once he had imagined the phantom leaving the hall. In his mind’s eye he saw his enemy’s retreating wedding tunica, still stained by grapes and fruit. Then his thoughts wandered to the things that Castor didn’t see, and didn’t know, and would never know until it was all too late.

  These were a comfort to him, even if nothing else was.

  *

  Apicata could tell who it was at the other end of the corridor by perfume alone. Livilla reeked like a whore’s funeral, drenched in more gladiolus oil than anyone else at Oxheads. Apicata paused in her progress for a moment and waited, assuming a respectful expression. When Livilla drew near, headed in the opposite direction, Apicata made a little show of waiting for her to say something. But Livilla said nothing, as Apicata well knew she would, so she stepped into her path.

  ‘Lady Livilla, didn’t you see me here in the dark?’ Apicata said. She could feel the look of contempt on the patrician woman’s face – not that she cared.

  ‘I saw you clearly enough,’ said Livilla.

  ‘Do you look well tonight? I would be so pleased to know.’

  There was an odour to Livilla that lay somewhere beneath the cloy gladiolus. A raw, salty smell. Fetid. Apicata’s nose wrinkled as she tried to determine it.

  ‘I look very well indeed,’ said Livilla. ‘My husband tells me I am glowing like the sun.’

  ‘Does he? How nice for you,’ said Apicata, smiling. She decided that this was where their discourse should end and she made to move on.

  But she had unleashed something within Livilla. ‘Don’t you want to know why?’

  With such an invitation Apicata wasn’t sure how she could resist. ‘Has something happened?’

  ‘I am with child.’