'What is the omen, Caesar?'
'The lamp going out like that — it's happened to me before. And when it does it always means that my battle the next day will be won.'
'What is your battle tomorrow?'
'Perhaps it's not a battle then, but it will be an effort for me. I have signed your new treason list — it's bound to cause a fuss.'
Sejanus lifted his boot from the charred papyrus.
'Oh,' said Tiberius, realising.
Sejanus tried to pick up the papyrus but it fell to ashes in his fingers. 'I'll have the list drawn for you again, Caesar.'
'Don't bother.'
'Caesar?'
'It was Fate, an act of the gods. The men on the list must now be spared.'
'They were guilty men — '
Tiberius waved his hands. 'Perhaps they weren't. The gods think otherwise. Let's leave them be.'
Sejanus remained standing there in confusion.
'What is it, boy?'
Sejanus suddenly gripped Tiberius by the hand, kissing it. 'Everything I do, I do for you, Caesar.'
'Of course you do.'
'I have given my life to defending you — to saving you from enemies.'
'I know how loyal you are to me.'
'The city is full of traitors — jealous, evil men and women who want to harm you, who want Rome for themselves…'
'And you root them out for me — I am very grateful.' He placed his free hand on the young Prefect's head, stroking his thick, black hair.
'I am nothing without you,' Sejanus whispered.
Tiberius nodded, accepting these words, even though they embarrassed him. Sejanus stood again at last. 'There has been a death,' he said. 'Someone you know has opened a vein in their bath.'
'Is it Gallus? It all got too much for him, did it?'
'It's Vipsania.'
Tiberius went white. Then he lurched forward in the semi-darkness, crashing his fists on his desk, trying to find his draught goblet. The drug eluded him until Sejanus slipped it into his hands. Tiberius gulped at the dregs.
When he'd drained the last, he found that the grief of his former wife's suicide had ceased before he had even begun to feel it.
Sejanus left Tiberius alone again and took several moments to collect his thoughts on the other side of the doors. He felt some pity for Vipsania. She had been a noble woman and widely liked, but she had been wrong to remarry again when Tiberius divorced her. It had insulted Tiberius.
Sejanus saw that the Tribune Macro was signalling him. 'What is it?'
There was a smirk on his second-in-command's face. 'A slave wishes to speak with the Emperor.'
'He doesn't speak with slaves.'
'The eunuch says he's from Castor's household and has news of great importance for Tiberius.'
Sejanus considered this for only a second before rejecting it. 'It's a kitchen squabble. Throw him out.'
As huge as a bull, Macro saluted Sejanus and pulled open a door. Sejanus caught only a glimpse of Lygdus cowering behind it before turning to depart.
'Won't he see me?' Lygdus asked the Tribune as he watched Sejanus walking away.
'Why would he, turd? You're offensive.'
Lygdus was immune to abuse. He stared at Macro's large, square feet encased in their woollen house-shoes. 'But the news I have is important — my domina has delivered her child.'
'That news is his son's to break, then, not yours.'
'But there's more.'
'Spit it.'
Lygdus lowered his voice. 'It's a secret… too important… I would never have told it, but she's pushed me to it, you see… and she lied when she called me her little lamb.'
Macro struck him with the back of his hand.
The new blood from Lygdus's day of wounds dried brittle on his skin as he fled.
The young eunuch couldn't risk knocking at the bronze front door. He couldn't risk approaching the side entrances along the alleys that would take him into the kitchens, or the gardens or the lavatories either. He couldn't risk taking any of the labyrinthine tunnels that connected his master's house and the houses of the other family members with the Emperor's home, the house he'd just fled. He couldn't risk anything. He had been missing for hours. He was trapped.
Lygdus tried to melt into the twilight shadows as he waited under the ancient yew tree. In his blood-sodden scarlet tunica and knee-high woollen boots, he stood out like the gaudy Saturnalian novelty Livilla intended him to resemble. He was a pet to her; loved, she claimed, but really loathed, he now knew. He was her little joke.
The edifice of his master's house loomed high above him. The shops on either side of the front door were shuttered and closed. The street was nearly deserted, save a few shuffling beggars and prostitutes, who were darting towards the Forum to begin their night's work. In the distance, towards the bottom of the hill, the sounds of flutes and cymbals could be heard — and laughter. Musicians were entertaining revellers at a tavern. Lygdus had never been permitted to visit such an establishment. He had never been permitted to leave his master's house without purpose. If they found him out here, Lygdus would never be permitted to do anything again.
He wept miserably, wondering how his wretched life could grow any worse. Yet he knew that it could. Only the appeals of the Lady Antonia had saved him from crucifixion today. The injustice of being accused of planting the curse tablet chewed at his heart. He had no idea how the filthy thing had found its way under his domina 's bed. In a way, he almost understood why Livilla had blamed him for it. Who else in the house was so low and abused as he was? Who else harboured so much hatred?
A hooded figure appeared in the twilight, lurching up the cobbled road towards the house. Lygdus tried to press himself into the bark of the yew tree, painfully aware of his scarlet bulk. But the figure didn't see him. It was a young man, tall and slim under the hood. The sound of his step was odd, as if he walked on one foot not two. Yet he wasn't a cripple. Lygdus listened to determine it. The tread was hard then soft, hard then soft. He saw why. The young man was missing a shoe — one foot was bare. He lurched within a few steps of where Lygdus cowered. Lygdus smelled the wine on the young man's breath. The hood slipped from his head as he raised his hand to thump at the door to Castor's house.
The door was opened by one of the kitchen slaves, a boy scarred from the spits. 'Good evening, young Master Nero,' the boy simpered.
Nero ignored him and went to move inside as Lygdus saw his chance. Nero was drunk. The steward Pelops was no doubt in a similar state, given that he'd left a kitchen slave on door duty. The newborn baby was being celebrated. No better hope would present itself for gaining entrance to the house undetected. Lygdus leaped to his feet and took his place in Nero's wake, just as the kitchen slave was closing the door. The boy recognised him and gave him a startled look, but Lygdus stared him down, willing the boy to believe he'd been in the young master's company all evening. The boy nodded and bolted the door behind them. Only then did Nero seem aware of Lygdus for the first time.
The eunuch sneered at the kitchen slave. 'Go back to the spits.'
The boy opened his mouth to complain but the look on Lygdus's face was enough to make him obey. Lygdus smoothly took the cloak from Nero's shoulders, keeping his eyes downcast. Nero said nothing, but his wine- drenched breath was strong. Lygdus sensed him trying to work out what was amiss. Lygdus sank to his knees. 'You are missing a shoe, domine,' he said, still not raising his eyes.
'Lost it, fell off,' said Nero, his voice thick with drink. He slumped into a chair.
Lygdus removed Nero's remaining sandal. Both feet were black with street dust. Lygdus clung to the small amount of pleasure the sight and smell of them gave him — the one joy he knew. He turned to the footbath stowed
