Nest of vipers eor-2

by Luke Devenish

  'What will happen to us?' asked Julilla again.

  No one replied.

  'What will happen?'

  'Ssh,' Nilla whispered.

  'Why can't you just tell me? Why do we have to go to this place at all?'

  Nilla caught Burrus's eye in the moonlight as he rowed them. They found comfort in the looks of love they gave to each other. 'Because of our mother,' she whispered to Julilla. 'And our brother, Little Boots, too.'

  'He could be all alone on the island. No one knows. Grandmother Antonia has tried sending letters but they remain unanswered. It is our duty to now take action on her behalf,' Drusilla said.

  'Shouldn't we have told her we were going?'

  'Julilla, please stop asking questions,' said Drusilla.

  'Why didn't we ask our older brothers to help us?'

  No one said anything more.

  The sisters had received no contact from both Nero and Drusus in months. Nilla guessed they sought to keep their togas spotless from their mother's fall. They could not be blamed. When things improved, perhaps they would embrace their forgotten siblings again.

  The only sound was that of Burrus's strong young arms slicing the oars through the waves.

  'I want our mother,' Julilla said softly, after a time.

  'We all do,' said Drusilla. Each girl felt tears come to her eyes at their continued prevention from seeing Agrippina or knowing of her fate.

  'Your mother would want you to be brave, domina,' Burrus said to Julilla.

  The youngest sister nodded, but her tears were wet upon her cheeks.

  I had never seen such fury in Livilla. I knew her to be sly and scheming, but never so vicious as to beat another person physically. Yet the violence with which she kicked and struck her nephew Drusus was of a magnitude that her grandmother Livia would have respected. When the yelping Drusus fell under her slaps and punches, she struck him in the face with her heel. Then she aimed her foot at his privates, sparing him nothing with repeated sharp blows, while he writhed and screamed in torment. It was fascinating for me, a hidden witness, to see a patrician suffer this assault. Any slave in his place would have taken such treatment resignedly. But to see a patrician suffer it was to marvel that he was nothing so much as surprised.

  When Livilla had finally spent herself, she sat down in a chair, exhausted. The dog Scylax, who had excitedly enjoyed the beating, ran to lick her reddened hand while Drusus tried to recover himself on the floor. Having stumbled upon this scene wholly by accident, I was conscious of not moving or even taking a breath from behind the partly open door from where I watched.

  'Nothing,' said Livilla at last. 'Absolutely nothing at all.'

  'I am sorry, Aunt,' Drusus whimpered.

  'How can this be? You swore to me Nero was perverted — that he harboured desires for men. Yet what proof have you brought me of this?'

  'I am sorry, Aunt.'

  'Nothing at all.'

  I was confused. What had Drusus done with the many pages of detailed notes on his brother's activities that I had secreted into his rooms upon my domina 's orders?

  'You've failed me, Drusus. Get out of my sight.'

  I sprung away from the door and made haste down the corridor before Drusus caught me witnessing this shameful exchange. I reached the end just as he hobbled from the room. I turned and was able to glance at his face before he ducked away. He was transfixed by fear. I almost pitied him. He had made a pact with a woman as captivating as she was terrifying. He was no different to me.

  I lingered for a few moments, trying to decide my next course. Then I chastised myself. There was no other course left for me. Already feeling the inevitable blows from the rod, I prepared to stumble through the maze of Oxheads corridors until I found my domina. Within moments of my setting out, however, she found me.

  'Iphicles.'

  ' Domina?' To my vague dismay, Lygdus was in attendance upon Livia as she made her progress through the halls. 'I was just coming to find you.'

  'To confess your crimes?'

  'Well, I… Yes.'

  The look that passed between my domina and Lygdus was one of the deepest disgust. Lygdus came behind me and delivered two hard kicks to the backs of my knees. I fell forward with a shout.

  'Better,' said Livia. Her fist was curled around a dozen sheets of papyrus. She flung them at my upturned face. 'Now eat them.'

  I must have looked laughable in my confusion because Lygdus burst into giggles.

  'Eat them,' said Livia.

  'The papyrus sheets, domina?'

  She thrust her face into mine. 'Filthy accusations about Nero, my grandson, and written in your hand. Eat them, slave. Then shit them into a sewer and flush them far from Rome.'

  I began to tear up the first piece of papyrus, stuffing it into my mouth.

  'When will he learn, domina?' Lygdus shook his head sadly.

  'When my grandson Nero is the second king,' Livia said.

  They remained until I had chewed and swallowed the last sheet. Then Lygdus was posted to ensure I didn't vomit them. He wouldn't speak or look at me.

  Livia was playing an elaborate game, I knew. She was playing a game with all of us. She had devised the rules and twists and countermoves throughout her years of paralysis. She had polished and perfected what she would do to the most finite degree. And now that she was free of me again, she was playing her game with the whole of Rome. She would not kill me for what I had done to her. She would let me suffer her vindictive tortures, because she wanted me to see her award the prize at the game's end.

  Moaning on the floor with Lygdus pressing his hand to my lips to stop me heaving up the sheets, I knew what Livia's prize was.

  But I could not guess who would win it.

  The two of them fled.

  Burrus took Nilla's hand in his and dragged her from the terrace and into the moonlit garden even before Julilla's screaming had stopped and Little Boots had ceased his manic laughter. He dragged Nilla through the flowers with the sounds of Drusilla's sobbing still in his ears, and when the beds became hedges and the shrubs became trees, he dragged her through the undergrowth and would not let her stop to catch her breath even when she struck him in her hysteria and tried to bite his hand.

  The garden became a wood, and still Burrus dragged her along by the hand, lost and directionless, until they came upon a path. There he held her by the shoulders as she wept and shook. When she began to retch, he turned away, but still he held her by the ankle as she sank to the ground, choking in the leaves. Burrus would not let her return to that place of obscenity. He would not let her go back for her sisters. He would not let her pleas break his heart. All that mattered was that she was spared, she whom he loved more than life.

  'Julilla!' she sobbed into the leaves.

  He kept his heart hard.

  The sounds of crashing undergrowth made him pull Nilla to her feet again. They were being pursued. They heard the laughter and the taunts, and Nilla's name being called. They said she was their lover. They said Burrus's life was worthless for daring to take her away.

  'Don't listen,' Burrus hissed.

  'Leave me,' Nilla begged him. 'Just leave me here. I'll give them what they want. They'll forget about you then. You can hide yourself and get back to the boat. You can make it to Rome. You can tell people what's happening here.'

  'Not without you.'

  'Do it, Burrus.'

  'No. I love you.'

  The taunts and laughter came from all around them. Voices behind, more voices in front. Burrus took a sharp turn through a grove of trees. They leaped across logs and under boughs. Nilla landed badly and felt the muscles in her calf tear. She cried out with pain. 'Just leave me,' she begged him again.

  Burrus refused. Then the voices ceased. The grove of trees fell silent. In the pale glow of the moon they could see each other's fear-streaked faces. Their clothes were torn, their limbs were scratched raw by the bushes. They had lost their shoes. Their feet oozed blood in the grass. When thei
r breathing stilled, they realised they could see their surrounds. They peered into the trees. There was no one else with them. They were alone.

  '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

  Claudius had intended to refuse all wine, wanting to keep his head clear for the day's events, but as the hou
rs wore on and the faces of the young people took on looks that spoke of miseries unexpressed, he felt the stirrings of suspicion that these nuptials were not a joyous thing at all. The doubt made him take his first wine. He missed his cousin Castor at these family occasions, given that no one else ever sank so low as to talk to him. Claudius drank his wine in a rush before asking for another. He downed that just as quickly and believed he felt a little better.

  Claudius hoped the wine might grant him heightened powers of observation. Sometimes it did. He looked at the young people closely while they completed the confarreatio rituals. Nilla, his niece, had no expression at all as the lambskin was laid across her knees. Even with her eyes half-hidden under the saffron veil, Claudius could see that her face was a mask. This was strange for a bride on her wedding day. If it wasn't elation being shown to the guests, then tears were just as acceptable. But the girl let nothing through, and Claudius feared it was because her hopes for happiness were less than nil.

  Claudius studied the groom. Ahenobarbus of the Aemilii was handsome enough, despite his curly red hair, and was likely little older than twenty-three. Yet, this gave him a good ten years on his bride. Ahenobarbus seemed absent. It was strange that he hadn't yet spoken a word. His eyes looked out the open temple doors and towards the rooftops beyond, and he rubbed his thumb and forefinger together as if to make a click. Claudius wondered how the wedding night would play out and then chastised himself when he found the thought arousing. It was wrong to think of his niece being roughly deflowered.

  Claudius turned his eyes to the other young couple being married at Tiberius's decree. Nilla's brother Drusus was not as adept as his sister in hiding his inner heart. He looked bewildered and almost frightened, as if the news of his nuptials had been broken to him only that morning. With some unease, it occurred to Claudius that perhaps this was so. The double wedding had been a surprise to the guests, who had only been told they would be witness to the union of Nilla and Ahenobarbus. Perhaps the tight-fisted Tiberius had decided at the last minute to get more for his money? Claudius peered at Drusus's bride. She was not a girl he recognised. The priest had named her as Domitia, also of the Aemilii, and with the ignominy of her late mother's conviction for witchcraft still casting a pall over the clan, Claudius suspected that Domitia had spent many years hidden from view. This would account for why nobody knew her.