The servants scrambled to their feet to pursue him. 'We'll have to show her to him.'
'We've got no choice in it!'
'Where is she?' Claudius wailed.
'The tablinum, domine — she's in the master's study!'
They reached him just as he flung back the embroidered curtain that divided the atrium from the admiral's private room. The curtain ripped from its rings, spilling at their feet in a billowing bundle.
Claudius stared into the lavishly decorated study. It was empty. 'Where is she?'
'You are looking at her, domine.'
An outraged shriek pitched Claudius to the floor and he threw his hands to his mouth in horror. A ghost-grey Fury bestrode the admiral's desk, filling the room with a volcanic anger that burned in her face as she fixed him with her pus-coloured eyes. Claudius tried to flee on his knees but she leaped to the floor and advanced upon him, flinging her feathered arms high in the air.
Claudius's screams of terror proved even louder than her cries of abject disgust.
In Rome a Palatine father was presented with his firstborn child. He looked at the tiny thing swaddled in linen at his feet, while the midwives waited with bated breath, praying to Diana that he'd pick the baby up.
'Is it a girl then?' he asked them flatly.
The midwives nodded, keenly aware that a son had been hoped for. 'And the domina is doing well — very little blood lost in the labour,' the older of them added.
But the father made no move to embrace the child. He tapped the baby lightly with his foot. The baby squirmed a little but didn't stir. 'Is it healthy?'
'Very healthy. She will be a beautiful child, you can see it in her tiny face — an asset to you, domine.'
The father stood up, stepping over the baby. The midwives looked at each other in confusion — then looked to the wet nurse.
' Domine?' the wet nurse asked.
The father stopped.
'Are you… rejecting this child?'
'Don't be a fool.'
Relief flooded the servants. 'You have a name for her, then, domine?'
'Her name will honour mine, not her mother's,' was all he said over his shoulder before leaving the room.
The servants looked at each other again for a moment, and the wet nurse took up a clean wax tablet from her master's desk. 'The family name is Messala,' she told the midwives. 'We will find a name for her from that.' She scratched down a few letters, disliked what they made, and scratched them out before trying another derivative. 'There,' she said.
The oldest midwife cradled the tiny girl again. 'What is she called then?'
The wet nurse showed her the name: Messalina. They all agreed that it was as pretty a name as any inauspicious daughter could ask for.
'You'll find a husband one day who loves you more than Daddy does,' the old midwife whispered reassuringly to the baby.
'That won't be hard,' the wet nurse muttered.
Claudius came to consciousness to find the Fury perched on a chair back, looking disdainfully at him where he lay on the floor. The panicky servants tried to force more watered wine into his hands.
'The rarest of birds…' he stammered.
'She is very rare,' agreed the nomenclator. 'Rarer than a jewel.'
'The admiral brought her back from Egypt,' the steward added. 'He said the Pharaoh breeds them.'
Claudius realised that this Fury was not much larger than a raven.
'He says she's a parrot, but she's not a very pretty one.'
'What she lacks in looks she has gained in brains.'
'H — how…?' Claudius stuttered.
The servants stared at each other in exasperation, brought to their wits' end by his unfathomable behaviour. 'You told us you knew of her. You keep calling her "rare"!'
'That's why we let you in here, domine!'
Claudius fell into stammering again and slopped the wine.
The steward and the nomenclator stood up in disgust. 'It's because she can talk, domine, just like a man!'
Watered wine ran down Claudius's neck. 'That's… that's impossible.'
The servants folded their arms in scorn and cocked their heads at the Fury. 'What do you say to that, then, bird?'
The ghost-grey parrot span on the chair back, presenting her behind to Claudius. She lifted her tail and expelled a shower of thick, milky excrement at him, before spinning around to stare again defiantly.
'Veiovis!' the Fury shrieked.
The wet nurse brought in the baby girl to lie next to her sleeping mother. The newborn stirred and the wet nurse hushed the child. The young mother woke; aged barely seventeen, she was little more than a child herself.
'Has he seen her?' Lepida whispered.
'Shush, now — you should rest,' the wet nurse soothed.
'Has my husband seen her?'
The wet nurse nodded.
'Did he name her Messalina?'
The wet nurse didn't like to say that she herself had given the baby this name since the father had shown so little interest. 'It is a very pretty sound upon the tongue,' she said, pleased that Lepida seemed to have hoped for this very name for the girl herself.
Lepida smiled and sank into her cushions, snuggling the tiny baby to her. It was as if unexpressed anxieties washed from the young mother's face. A serenity took her, and the wet nurse was heartened to see it. All mothers should be at peace when safely delivered of a longed-for child, she believed.
She smoothed Lepida's brow. 'The next one will be a boy, just you wait and see. Then your husband will call you his queen.'
Lepida seemed far away. 'I will not be a queen,' she whispered. 'It is not my fate.'
The wet nurse wanted to assure the girl that she didn't mean this literally, but when Lepida appeared to fall asleep, the other woman tiptoed from the birth room to take her place upon the pallet outside the door.
Alone with her child, Lepida's eyes were closed, but she was not yet with Somnus, treading lightly in the netherworld between wakefulness and dreams.
'Do you see her, Mother?' she whispered into the night air. 'Do you see her here with me?' In Lepida's mind, the gentle spirit of her dead mother, Aemilia, was strong inside the room. 'She has joined us at last.' Lepida kissed her baby's silken head. 'Her destiny begins, and the destiny of the Aemilii with her. You can sleep in peace now, Mother. All is in place for the rarest of birds…'
Castor awoke in the night and sensed an animal in his room. It was not Livilla's pup — she kept the beast so perfumed that its presence was unmistakable. This beast had a smell of its own, one he couldn't place. It was neither fetid nor stale. It was not unpleasant.
Castor lay still in his bed for a moment, trying to identify what the animal was and why it might have brought itself to his sleeping room. It made no noise upon the floor. The sound of its breathing was indiscernible. Castor felt no fear of being harmed by it. He slowly sat upright and swung his feet to the floor. The smooth, cool scales that he immediately felt beneath his soles told him what his visitor was: a serpent, lying in wait for him. He identified the smell — desert sands and hot winds.
The snake didn't wiggle beneath his feet or arch backwards to bite him. It stayed as still as a stone — and yet it was very much alive, because Castor could feel the minute expansion of its lungs taking in air. Carefully, he lifted his feet again, giving his eyes time to adjust to the darkness. The serpent writhed free and slid noiselessly along the floor. It paused once, turning its head to look directly at him.
'Why are you here?' Castor asked. Even if the serpent had answered him, Castor would have remained unafraid, because he knew already that this was no earthly animal. It was a portent. The snake continued towards the door and into the corridor outside, lingering near the sleeping form of Lygdus on his slave's pallet. Castor gently shook the eunuch awake.
'What is it, domine?'
Castor pointed into the shadows. Lygdus gave a little cry of fear but Castor placed his hand across his mouth. 'Ssh. I don't want anyone else to know.'