Tiberius stopped still, staring at the object. Fear clenched him at once, but as he stared the feeling subsided after several minutes, replaced by something more familiar to him: compulsion. His tremor was terrible as he tried to reach for the vial, his right hand shaking so much he couldn't grip the glass. He had to use both his hands, the left steadying the right, just to pick it up. He opened the lid and the sweet stink of the Eastern flower emerged. He flung it away into the garden.
'Macro!' he stammered in rage, looking wildly about him. 'Is this some joke from you, Macro, is it? Taunting your Emperor?'
But Macro had left the terrace. Tiberius was alone.
Tiberius gawked at where the vial had fallen. The draught was seeping into the soil of an autumn flowerbed. Beginning to weep at his shattered willpower, Tiberius stumbled from his couch and crawled to the bed on his knees. Once he reached it, he pressed his mouth to the spill, sucking the dirt through his teeth.
He had begun the morning hoping for Antonia's return. He finished it praying she would be endlessly delayed.
On his way to the dock to where the trireme waited, Macro saw Little Boots and Aemilius lazing themselves in the Emperor's pleasure garden. He smiled to himself. 'Not at school?' he called out.
The two boys started at being sprung and snatched up scrolls, having him believe they were studying. Macro laughed.
Little Boots tossed his scroll aside with disgust, not bothering with a front. 'I'm far too old for school — it's humiliating,' he called, plumping the cushion he had been resting on.
As he turned to continue on his way, Macro noticed which cushion it was. Sedeo — 'I sit' — was embroidered on its seat. 'Is that the present from your great-grandmother?' he rebuked over his shoulder. 'You should take greater care not to get it dirty, Little Boots.'
'How did he know who gave it to you?'Aemilius said, amazed.
Little Boots looked blank for a moment, then took off at a run.
'Where are you going?' Aemilius called.
Macro heard him coming as he approached the dock and stopped, not bothering to turn around. The youth faced him and Macro cocked an eyebrow at him benignly.
Little Boots realised his mouth had gone dry. 'Do — do you know the significance of my great-grandmother's present?' he stammered.
'Yes, I do,' said Macro.
Little Boots waited but nothing more came. 'Well? Will you tell me?'
'No,' said Macro.
Frustration boiled in Little Boots. 'That is unfair! If you know what it is, you should tell me. Why is a stupid cushion so significant?'
Macro shrugged. 'Who can say?'
'You can say!' complained Little Boots. 'If my great-grandmother has told you, then tell me, Prefect.'
Macro leaned close and Little Boots felt intimidated anew. 'Your great-grandmother told me a number of things, and to each of them she added that I must not tell you.'
Little Boots's mouth gaped.
'You must discover all things for yourself. And only when you do discover them, your great-grandmother believes, will you be ready to know what they mean.'
Macro resumed his progress to the dock, leaving the youth staring after him. Little Boots saw that a document had slipped from the bundle under Macro's arm.
'You dropped this!' he shouted. Macro stopped again and looked to where Little Boots pointed. 'A sealed letter. You dropped it.'
Macro made no move to retrieve the thing, watching Little Boots. Not knowing what game was being played, the young man stooped and picked it up for him, holding it out.
'That's unfortunate,' said Macro.
Little Boots just looked in confusion.
'Look, the wax is cracked,' Macro went on. 'The seal is broken. It must have happened when you touched it.'
Affronted, Little Boots went to defend himself but Macro raised his hand to stop him. 'If I weren't in such a hurry to return to Rome, I would go back to the Emperor and ask him to seal it again. But I do not have the time.'
Little Boots tried to fathom what was really being said to him.
'Perhaps you can bring it to the Emperor's attention?' said Macro. 'I will collect the letter when I return in five days' time — provided the Emperor remembers to reseal it. If he does not remember, then perhaps you can bring that to his attention too?'
Macro departed, leaving Little Boots holding the document in silence. The Prefect's real instruction was clear. He wanted Little Boots to read what the document contained. But why? Would it help Little Boots to discover all that he presently had not? He slowly unfurled the papyrus in the thin November sun, letting the cracked fragments of wax break off and fall to the ground.
It was Tiberius's directive to the Senate instructing the release of Little Boots's mother and brother.
With Little Boots having been snoring upstairs in their cramped room for hours, Aemilius rubbed his eyes and prepared to join him, blowing out his oil lamp and putting his pen and ink away. He shared Little Boots's frustration at having to complete scholarly tasks now that both of them were men, but he did not share his friend's recklessness. The thought of defying the Revered Lady Antonia's orders — and, what's more, being caught by her for it — filled Aemilius with dread. And so, whenever Little Boots fell asleep before he did, which was now quite often, Aemilius took the opportunity to slip away and cram in secret in a little downstairs room. He had managed to read a great deal in this manner, comforting himself that he could answer any and all of Antonia's questions, should the formidable matron return to quiz him.
Tucking his scroll of Livy's History of Early Rome under his arm, Aemilius entered the ground floor latrine. He disliked sitting down on household lavatories when it wasn't necessary, preferring to piss from the standing position, as if filling up a fuller's pot. It was of no concern to him that half his urine missed its mark. He stared into space, trying to recall as many of Livy's names and events as he could, until he realised that his piss was making an unusual sound as it struck the sewer below. It was not the sound of water hitting water, but of water hitting something that didn't belong in there. Livy left his head. Aemilius shook himself off and peered into the void. A crumpled piece of papyrus floated on the water, the remains of its red wax seal still visible. It was the Emperor's mark. Intrigued, Aemilius considered fishing the thing out to read it.
'Here you are,' said Little Boots, sticking his head around the door.
Aemilius jumped. 'I thought you were asleep.'
'How can I sleep at a time like this?'
'It's long past sunset — when else are you supposed to sleep?'
'When my grandmother hasn't just shown up, for a start.'
Aemilius was shocked. 'Lady Antonia is here?'
'Her ship has docked. She's in a hell of a temper, demanding all of us attend her so she can discuss the schoolwork she set.'
'But it's the middle of the night.'
'You'll tell that to my grandmother, will you?'
Aemilius knew he would do nothing of the kind. But he felt the scroll of Livy under his arm and felt a degree less panicked.
'Go ahead, they're all gathering,' said Little Boots. 'I'm right behind you.'
When his friend had left the room, Little Boots loosened his loincloth and sat at the latrine. Nature took its course, and he gave a satisfied smile at what it was also doing to the crumpled piece of papyrus.
When my domina proposed I accompany her on a walk through the streets to the Temple of the Great Mother, I threw myself to the floor automatically.
'Thank you, domina — it would be a great honour.'
After several moments of silence I looked up from the floor, thinking I had offended her again.
Livia was looking at me, but not with anger. 'Just the two of us will walk,' she said. 'No one else.'
I writhed again at her feet. 'Such, such a great honour.'