Nest of Vipers

'Curse it,' he muttered.

Antonia picked it up. 'It is a curse. This drink does you no good, Caesar.'

He leaped to his feet. 'It cannot be…'

'Yes, it is.' She embraced him. 'I am your old friend Antonia here to visit you.'

He basked in the warmth of her kisses. 'Oh, my friend — it is so good to see you again.'

She let him go and stood facing him sadly.

'What is it? Why are you here to see me?'

'I'm here in warning…'

From somewhere Tiberius heard the honking of the geese.

'Sejanus has enacted a conspiracy,' Antonia said, 'and its victim is you.'

The honks became a goddess's voice, from so far away. ' The matron's words alone are heard, the addled heart is ringed…'

He touched the Imperial ring on his ringer and knew that Antonia was his saviour.

Tiberius watched as Antonia poured the last of the Eastern flower into the water far below. There was no more left. The island was now rid of it.

'How do you feel?' she asked him.

'Frightened,' he said with unvarnished honesty. 'I have tried this before, you see — and I have failed.'

'You did not have a friend to help you. Now you do.' She began to lead him away from the cliff and back to the green of the garden, where the minnows stood staring from the grass. 'Is frightened all you feel, Caesar?'

'Fear is much of it,' said Tiberius, 'but it is not all, no. I feel resolved.'

'Good.'

'And inspired. By your loyalty and dignity, Antonia.'

She smiled at him. 'They are two things I will go to my pyre still possessing.'

Tiberius squeezed her hand then looked about him for the Praetorian he trusted. 'Tribune.'

Macro came forward. 'Hail, Caesar.'

'You understand your orders?'

'I do,' said Macro. 'With Caesar's permission I will depart for Pontia right now.'

'It is nearly November. The seas there will be treacherous.'

'Time is imperative,' said Macro, 'and the Prefect's treachery is worse.'

'The gods bless you, Tribune. Free my grandson. Bring him here, where he'll be safe.'

'It will be done, Caesar.' Macro saluted again and left.

When Antonia was satisfied that Tiberius was resting comfortably, she turned her eye to the assembled minnows. 'So then,' she began. 'This is how you appear before your Emperor? Stark naked?'

Little Boots resented her opprobrium. 'It is how he orders us to appear,' he replied.

Antonia slapped him in the face. 'It is not how you appear before your grandmother.'

Shocked, Little Boots clutched his cheek.

Antonia strode to where Drusilla and Julilla cowered near Aemilius. 'Face me,' she demanded. Cringing, the girls stepped forward and Antonia gripped them viciously by the ears. 'Put on your clothes! You have the blood of the divine Augustus in your veins — how dare you disgrace it?'

The girls fled inside the Emperor's villa.

Antonia turned to the rest of the children. 'If you are to be fit company for your Emperor and me, then not only will you be attired with decency and humility from this day forward, but you will also be attending school.'

Clutching his throbbing cheek, Little Boots's look to his friend Aemilius was one of genuine horror.

The eleventh day before the Kalends of November AD 31

Two days later: the nascent cult of Christ proclaims Stephen its first martyr

Staring out to sea from the island's best vantage point, high up on the rocks, Lygdus saw a ship on the horizon. He watched its progress for a moment before he knew with certainty what sort of vessel it was: an Imperial trireme. The day had come. Resolute, he picked his way from his perch and along the beach and up the path again towards the island's single dwelling.

Tending the vines in a wide straw hat, Nero read the expression on the eunuch's face and discerned what the news was without Lygdus even needing to say it. 'So then.'

Lygdus could only nod, anxious of what he might do if he spoke. His emotions were in danger of overwhelming him.

Nero took off his straw hat. His face showed no fear.

Lygdus fell to one knee. 'Give me your courage, domine,' he pleaded.

Nero touched his shoulder and made him rise again. 'Courage brought you here in the first place, Lygdus. If you had not heard Macro's pillow-talk and acted with true courage by coming to Pontia, I would not have had the luxury of acceptance. To know your own fate in advance is a gift in situations like this. It has let me prepare for it.'

'But it is wrong.'

Nero didn't disagree. But in the long months spent alone on this island he had learned one true thing about himself: he was his mother's son. 'I have no fear at what is ahead, only gratitude that this waiting will end.'

'Oh domine — '

Nero shook his head. They had spoken of what the final moment must be and it could not include tears. Side by side, they left the vines and entered the small villa. Two swords lay in readiness before the wax mask of Nero's murdered father.

'Thank you, domine,' Lygdus whispered, 'for the privilege of being your slave.'

'You were never my slave,' said Nero. 'From the beginning you have been nothing less than my friend.'

As the two friends took the swords in their hands, the faintest refrain of a song kissed the air: ' The one near sea falls by a lie that comes from the gelding's tongue…'

It came too late. The words fell unheard.

The Imperial trireme had docked at Pontia's tiny wharf. Macro waited at the prow, watching the progress of two of his men as they made the return trek from the lone villa. They were distressed; he could tell it from a distance.

'Where is he?' Macro demanded of them when they reached the dock again. 'Where is the Emperor's grandson? We have come here to free him.'

The Praetorians saluted. 'We must report a tragedy, Tribune. Nero is dead, along with a eunuch. They have fallen on swords.'

'But Nero was alive! We saw him tending the vines on the hill as the ship neared the dock.'

'His blood is still warm, Tribune, but his life has expired. He is dead.'

Macro feigned horror convincingly enough for his unsoph isticated men. 'This makes no sense. Why would he kill himself before he'd heard what we have to tell him? His liberty had been granted!'

The Praetorians had no answer.

'The poor lad,' said Macro, as if it now came to him. 'I see what it was. He'd become so maddened in his exile that he believed we were here to kill him.'

The Praetorians nodded, moved. This was likely so, they agreed.

'Lament my fate, boys,' Macro said. 'It falls to me to break this tragedy to the Emperor.'

On his public horse Sejanus rode at walking pace up the graceful slope of the Palatine. The hillside poplars had turned gold in the crisp autumn sun, and the majestic Temple of Apollo slowly came into sight. In excellent spirits Sejanus turned to the cohort behind him. 'There it is!'

The Praetorians were all cheers. Sejanus dismounted his horse to ascend the Temple steps with the full body of guards behind him. A brigade of vigiles, the civic police, was posted at the great iron doors.

'Hail, Prefect,' said the superior officer.

'This is irregular,' said Sejanus. 'Why are you vigiles here?'

The civic officers looked at each other. 'Nothing irregular about it for us, Prefect,' said the superior. 'This is where we're always posted. It's the Temple of Apollo. And a great day of honour for you, Prefect, if you'll accept our congratulations for it.'

Sejanus disliked vigiles. They were undisciplined street rabble, in his view. 'You are not required. The Praetorian Guard will do duty here today. Take your men and go.'

The vigiles didn't move. 'If you'll forgive me, Prefect,' said the superior, 'we will not go. This Temple has been our patch since it was built. Augustus himself posted us here. You Praetorians have your little duties and we have ours. This is one of them.'