Nero

'It all adds up to what?'

'I told you.' His voice was becoming slightly slurred: that last cup of wine might have done it. Surreptitiously I indicated to Masinissa to keep the top-ups coming. 'To Nero being a loser. Even then we might be more sympathetic if he'd back up a bit where we're concerned, but he couldn't care less.'

'You being the Senate again?' All this was quite alarming. I was used to Arruntius shooting his mouth off when he was drunk, but usually it was only hot air. This sounded more serious.

'Us being the Senate. Nero may hate our guts but he's a fool to make it so obvious, because some of us may just decide we've had enough and do something about it.'

'Arruntius, I really think that we should — ’

'Piso for one. Ever since that slimy bastard Romanus tried to get Seneca indicted he's — '

'Gnaeus! That's enough!' Silia snapped. She'd been getting more and more restless, and I'd assumed it was because of Arruntius's bad manners: his left hand had moved down to the hem of the slave-boy's tunic. Evidently it wasn't: I'd rarely seen her so angry.

Arruntius, too, was surprised. His mouth opened then shut tight as a clam's.

Silia turned to me. 'Titus, it's been a lovely evening,’ she said, ‘but I really do think we'd better leave.' Her eyes flicked back to Arruntius. 'Come on,darling. Now.'

Arruntius grunted and slipped tamely off his couch.

'Very well,' he said. ''Night, Petronius. Lovely evening. Lovely ostrich, lovely wine.' Deliberately he bent forwards and kissed Masinissa on the lips. 'Lovely boy. Yum! Buy him from you?'

'Not at present, dear. He still has novelty value. Perhaps later.'

He nodded. 'Look forward to it. Sorry about the…' He waved his right hand vaguely, realised he was still holding his wine-cup, drained it and set it mouth down on the table. 'Sorry about the spiel. Got carried away.'

'Don't mention it.'

'Mum's the word, eh?'

Silia reached over and tucked his arm firmly beneath her own.

'Good night, Titus,' she said.

I thought, when they'd gone, about what Arruntius had said. Or almost said. I knew of Decius Romanus. He was a narrow-striper like myself, a notorious fortune-hunter who kept just one jump ahead of the bailiffs. Not long after Octavia's murder he'd gone to Lucius privately (rumour had it with Tigellinus's blessing) and told him he had proof that Seneca was involved in a plot with several notable senators, including the aristocratic Gnaeus Calpurnius Piso. Luckily the poor dear went about things in such a ham-fisted way that not even Lucius believed him. Seneca provided clear proof of his innocence, and Romanus was exiled to Spain for bringing a malicious charge.

Now. Piso might feel resentment against Romanus for bringing the charge, but he couldn't — as Arruntius had implied — harbour any specially bad feelings for Lucius, who'd thrown it out. But wouldn't it be curious if Romanus was right after all, for the wrong reasons?

I wouldn't've given it a moment's thought if it hadn't been for Silia's behaviour. She'd been on edge as soon as Arruntius had brought the subject of Lucius up, and when he mentioned Seneca she'd come down on him like a ton of ice and whisked him home. Did Silia know something I didn't? And if so why should she be so desperate for me not to find out? This secrecy wasn't like her. It wasn't like her at all.

I was worried. Very worried indeed.

37

In late January of the next year Poppaea gave birth at Antium to a daughter. The baby was named Claudia. Lucius was delighted.

'She's the spitting image of her daddy, Titus!' he beamed. 'Bright red fuzz on top and the loveliest hazel eyes.'

I'd been wondering, with quite a few others, whether the hair wouldn't be dark and curly and the eyes black, but Poppaea wasn't that stupid, and nor was Tigellinus.

'Congratulations.' I sipped my beaker of hot honeyed wine: Lucius had a cold, which meant his guests had to drink medicinally as well. 'When can we see this young paragon?'

'Not for two or three months yet.' Lucius popped a raw garlic clove into his mouth. 'Especially in this weather. She's very delicate. And Poppy gets terribly seasick, poor girl. It's just not worth the risk.'

'She's fine?' I hoped the question sounded reasonably sincere. Personally I wouldn't've mourned too much if darling Poppy had died horribly of complications. I wouldn't've been alone, either.

'Strong as a horse.' He made a face as he chewed. 'Oh, and I'm giving her the title of Empress. Her and the little one both.'

'That's nice.' I tried to hide my shock. The title 'Augusta' carries tremendous weight. By producing Lucius's first child Poppaea had moved straight to the topmost imperial niche.

A slave came in with a charcoal brazier and set it down between us. I moved my chair back — the room was stifling already — but Lucius leaned forward and held his hands over the coals.

'I'm sorry, Titus, but I can't get warm,' he said. 'It's this beastly cold. Do you never get them?'

'Not often. A doctor I met once in Smyrna advised me to eat lemons whenever I felt one coming on. That seems to do the trick.'

'Lemons?'

'An Indian fruit, very sour. You boil them up with honey and spices to kill the taste.' I paused and then said delicately: 'Do the Senate know yet? About the new titles?'

Lucius chuckled, then broke into a fit of coughing. He lifted the silver bowl beside his chair and I waited politely while he spat out a gobbet of phlegm.

'Fuck the Senate, darling.' He grinned, wiping his lips on a napkin. 'Yes, they know. They're thrilled, of course. In public at least. We're to have a new temple to the goddess Fertility. And a special athletics event. They do seem to enjoy their physical exercise nowadays, don't they, the dears?'

I didn't know whether to take that as sarcasm or not. Over the past year Lucius had been going out of his way to encourage senators and narrow-stripers to appear in the arena and the athletic stadium. The younger, wilder set had done it willingly, but he'd made it clear that a token participation was expected from anyone who wasn't totally unfit if they wanted to stay in his good books; which had made him even less popular with the traditionalists.

Lucius was watching me carefully, an odd expression on his face.

'You don't think very much of me these days, do you?' he said.

My stomach turned to ice. 'I'm sorry?'

'You heard, darling. I mean, it's obvious. Don't think I haven't noticed. You don't like the way I'm handling things any more.'

'You're the emperor.' Serapis! 'You don't need my approval.'

He sipped his hot wine, his eyes on mine over the rim of the cup.

'I used to think you were like me,' he said quietly. 'An idealist in a world of barbarians. Now I'm not so sure we're on the same side.'

'It may not be a question of sides.'

'You see?' He set the cup down. 'You're beginning to sound like Seneca. He said that once, do you remember? To me it is. The Senate would make me into their own image if I let them. When they say "Compromise" they mean "Behave yourself, do it our way." I can't let that happen because their way's narrow and wrong. That's why I need Tiggy, to put the fear of God into them.'

'He certainly does that very well.' I was temporising desperately.

'Inspiring fear's his function. I can't do it myself, however much I'd like to.' The words came out quite naturally, as if Lucius really believed them. Perhaps he did. 'It's silly, but there you are. I'm too good-natured. Tiggy's a pragmatic bastard who likes frightening people. Besides, the Senate love being slapped around, it gives them a chance to bum-suck in public and grizzle in private.' He paused. 'Titus, say something. I'm being serious now.'

What could I say?

'Being both emperor and artist can't be easy, my dear.' Ah, weak, weak! But I meant it: it was true enough and always had been. At that moment I felt more sympathetic towards Lucius than I had for months.