Nest of Vipers

Little Boots and Aemilius stared in fascination at the cup. 'Pick it up,' said Little Boots.

'You pick it up,' said Aemilius.

Little Boots hated to appear a coward in the face of a dare. He let his fingers stroke the jewels on the side of the vessel for a moment before clutching the thing by the stem and raising it.

His little sister Julilla gasped. 'You'll be caught.'

This spurred him further. He posed with the thing, mimicking Tiberius's gestures. 'He's asleep — how will he know?'

'No one but Grandfather touches that cup.'

'So why did he leave it here where we could find it?'

'Perhaps he's not well today?' Drusilla suggested, electrified, watching on with her younger sister.

'When is he well any day?' quipped Little Boots.

This prompted the others to laugh before they clapped hands to their mouths, lest they be heard.

'Smell it,' said Little Boots, thrusting the cup towards Aemilius's nose.

'No!' Aemilius recoiled.

'Weakling,' said Little Boots. He held his own nose to the cup. The dregs of a thick brown liquid sat in the bottom. Whatever it was, it did not smell unpleasant. It smelled sweet, if anything, like wine brewed from honey.

'What is it?' asked Julilla, wide-eyed. 'Is it poison?'

'Why would Tiberius drink poison?' said Drusilla.

'To fortify himself against his enemies?'

'That's hell of a lot of fortifying he does then,' said Aemilius, smirking at Little Boots. 'He does it all day and all night.'

'Perhaps it's an antidote?'

Julilla's theory was dismissed by the older children, who already had their own suspicions about what the strange liquid might be.

'Drink it,' said Little Boots to Aemilius.

'No fear,' said Aemilius. 'I'm not touching anything the old man's been drooling in.'

'But it's magic,' said Little Boots. 'You know it is. Don't you want to see the trick?'

'What trick? Turn into something like him? I see that trick every day when he does it, thanks.'

'Weakling,' said Little Boots again, making as if to throw the contents at him.

'Don't you dare!' yelled Aemilius, trying to cover himself.

Drusilla's eyes followed her brother's best friend, secretly liking the way his long, bare limbs moved with such athletic grace in the sun. She knew what the drink did; she had watched her grandfather enough times to guess it. It removed inhibitions. It made a person bolder — and happier. She could see nothing wrong with attaining such things when forced, as she was, to live in constant unhappiness on this island. To be made free of conscience and self-loathing would be the greatest of gifts, she thought. It was no wonder the Emperor so jealously guarded it.

'I'll drink it,' she said.

The boys turned to her in surprise before casting looks at each other.

'Really?' said Little Boots.

Drusilla clicked her fingers for her brother to pass it to her before her courage failed. 'Why not? It's magic, isn't it?'

'Go on then,' said Little Boots, thrusting the thing at her. He doubted she had the nerve.

'What'll you give me if I do?' said Drusilla, gazing into the cup. She raised her eyes and met Aemilius's look.

'Aemilius will give you a kiss,' laughed Little Boots, thinking this would appall her.

It didn't. Aemilius flushed red.

'Don't, Drusilla,' said little Julilla, horrified. 'The Emperor spat in it!'

Drusilla let the liquid touch her lips. It was as sweet as it smelled — like nectar. 'Mmm,' she purred, making a show of her daring for Aemilius's benefit. 'It really is quite nice…'

Burrus stood back as the midwives presented the tiny child to Ahenobarbus, placing it at his feet.

'A girl, domine,' said the older midwife. 'An ornament to your house. And the mother is resting well.'

The companion midwife cast a glance at the woman standing next to this silent master, staring at the newborn with intensity. It was unorthodox for a husband to have a female friend in attendance with him during his firstborn's birth — let alone one so immodestly dressed. But it was no more unorthodox, perhaps, than a domina holding the hand of a male slave throughout her labour.

'She has come into this world with her mother's beautiful fair hair,' said the older midwife, hoping to elicit a response from Ahenobarbus. 'But who knows? Perhaps she'll grow her papa's fiery locks before long?'

Something in these words snapped Ahenobarbus from his stare. He met eyes with Burrus, who looked down to the ground. The slave was not anxious at what Ahenobarbus's response to the baby might be. He already knew that Nilla's husband would pick up the child and acknowledge it. There was an agreement in place between all four of them — he and Nilla, Ahenobarbus and Albucilla — an agreement had been struck when Nilla's monthly flow ceased and she had known she was carrying a child. Albucilla's hand brushed her lover's arm and he cocked his ear to let her whisper in it. Practised in tactfulness, the midwives gave no visible reaction to this provocative display, waiting in silence. Ahenobarbus stooped and picked up the child.

'Ah. There now,' said the older midwife, beaming.

Ahenobarbus and Albucilla raked the child with their eyes.

'The hair,' said Albucilla. 'You say it will turn red?'

'I'm sure it will, yes,' said the midwife, good-naturedly. But she was not sure. Sometimes babies didn't gain the colour of red-haired fathers — a misfortune that had been known to cause wills to be redrawn even when the mother was blameless. But in this case, the midwife already suspected, there was blame on all sides.

Ahenobarbus met eyes with Burrus again, expressionless. Then his lips split to reveal an unsettling grin.

Albucilla was not grinning. 'Fetch its mother,' she said to Burrus.

Burrus frowned. 'She is asleep. She lost blood.'

'Fetch her,' she repeated. 'Bring her down to your master now. He wishes to congratulate her.'

Burrus knew that something was awry. The agreement was threatened. 'All right.' He left the room.

The midwives were apprehensive without knowing why.

Burrus took the stairs two at a time, but slowed when he reached the upper gallery, not wanting to wake Nilla in alarm. He reached the door to her room they shared, the room that had once been the witch Aemilia's. The aged maid was seated crosslegged on the pallet.

'I must wake her,' Burrus whispered.

The old woman shrugged. 'What interest is that to me?'

Burrus went to go inside but the woman clutched at his ankle. 'She is exhausted from the birth. Leave her be, for the gods' sake. Let her sleep.'

'The red-haired one demands it.'

The old woman stiffened. 'Has he rejected the child?'

'He picked her up. He has acknowledged her.'

She relaxed. 'Then no one will know of the shameful secrets we harbour here.'

'You and your "shame", old woman. You walk the halls muttering that we're the house of the walking damned, but you see the love Nilla and I share and you encourage it. Just as you do with red-hair and his whore.'

The old servant wouldn't acknowledge this as true, even if it was. 'Wake her gently, you oaf. Don't worry her.'

'What else do you think I'll do?'

Burrus crept to sleeping Nilla in the bed. 'My love,' he whispered, softly kissing her cheek. 'Wake up, my love.'

Nilla stirred from the depths of her exhaustion. 'So tired, Burrus …'

'The red-haired one wants you to come to him. The whore says he wants to congratulate you for the birth.'

'My little girl?'

'He has picked her up. The midwives are with her. All is well and happy, as we planned.'

'That is good…'

Burrus lifted her from the bed, carrying her easily to the door. The old servant placed a sheepskin on Nilla. 'Careful,' she whispered. 'Watch your step.'

Burrus didn't need to be told. He took the stairs slowly, the mother of his child a sleeping bundle in his arms. Reaching the ground floor, he moved swiftly through the atrium and into the study, where Nilla's husband was waiting. The oil lamps had been extinguished. The room was now in semi-darkness. Albucilla rose from a chair, silhouetted against the moonlit garden beyond.