the eunuch's hand as hard as he could. 'I permit few people to tell me what I can and cannot do, Iphicles.'
'As should be so,' I murmured. 'You have the blood of the Divine Augustus in your veins.'
He lifted his foot from Lygdus's hand and the eunuch gave a tiny sob of relief. But before he could shift it, Little Boots stamped on him savagely again. 'I only allow my wisest friends to instruct me, because of the love they show.'
I bit back my anger. 'Your wisest friend's love is unwavering, domine.'
Little Boots smiled his cupid's smile and released Lygdus's hand. 'I have never doubted it.' He looked at Lygdus as if seeing him for the very first time. 'Why don't you accompany me to the baths instead, fat Lygdus? Iphicles can attend to the Augusta. It would be nice to have you with me at the baths. I feel as if we hardly know each other.'
Whatever it was that Lygdus felt at that moment, he hid it well. I felt proud of him. 'It will be an honour, domine,' he whispered.
'Yes, it will be,' said Little Boots.
Once he had left the room, I saw the confusion on the younger sisters' faces.
'What have you done to make him mad, fat Lygdus?' Julilla asked.
'It is a matter between Lygdus and your brother,' I said hastily, answering for him. In truth I had no idea at all of what had prompted Little Boots's treatment.
Nilla gave me a penetrating look. 'I think it is a matter between Lygdus and our brother and Iphicles,' she said. 'And perhaps one day we will learn exactly what it is all about?'
Unnerved by the child, I was lost for a reply.
The widow Livilla's first public appearance following Castor's death was an attempt to gauge Rome's reaction to her loss. She decided to journey to the Baths of Agrippa to see what sort of reception she might receive. She anticipated a bleak silence — which would not have been at all dismaying — and perhaps some weeping from the bath slaves. Livilla had little expectation of much beyond that, but it would still have pleased her.
She well remembered the public mourning that had dragged on for months and months for Germanicus, fanned by Agrippina's wails. Her sister-in-law's excessive grieving had made such a profound impact upon the city that a benchmark had been set for all widows. But Agrippina had been aided by a dead husband who had been adored by Rome, and Livilla knew that Castor had not been quite so revered. This had nothing to do with his character — he had been a kind-hearted and generous man — but he was impeded by his lack of high achievement. Everything Castor had done had been on a governmental level, away from the battlefield, with the sole aim of glorifying Tiberius. This meant he had never received credit where it was due to him. Livilla felt sad that his memory would soon dim, yet in truth her tears had long ceased flowing — if they had ever genuinely flowed at all. But Rome remained of the belief that the Lady Livilla was inconsolable.
The red-painted litter with the leather roof and feather-filled bed was new, a purchase Castor had made shortly before his death. The bearers that carried it were new too — paid freedmen, not slaves — and were dressed in bright-red tunicae with thick leather pads on their shoulders where they supported the poles. It was difficult for Livilla to suppress her sense of self-importance at being borne in such a fine transport. Hers was surely the best in Rome. But the progress she and Tiberia, her daughter, made down the Via Sacra — the Sacred Way — towards the Forum was slow. Travel through the city's heart was never rapid at the best of times, but this was somnambulistic.
'Why are we taking so long?' she asked no one in particular.
Tiberia made to lift the curtain and see.
'Don't you dare look out,' Livilla snapped at her. 'People are not to glimpse our faces.'
Tiberia tried to determine what she could through the fabric without raising it. 'It's impossible to see what's delaying us, Mother.'
Livilla called out to the lictor whose job it was to clear a path. 'What's going on out there? Why are we so slow today?'
'It's the mob, Lady,' the lictor called back. 'There's more of 'em here than usual.'
'Is there a criminal being whipped?'
'No, Lady. There's another litter trying to head in our direction, but that's all.'
'Then why so slow — why so many people?'
'I think they are here for you, Lady.'
Livilla felt a sudden thrill. 'I don't understand.'
'It is your first appearance on the streets. People are here to honour you.'
Livilla and Tiberia exchanged looks of amazement. Then Tiberia found herself crying. 'It's all because of Father. They're here because of our love for him.'
Livilla patted her daughter's hand consolingly, but her heart was soaring.
'Do the people wish to speak to me?' she called out to the lictor. She heard him conversing with some of the mob. He came closer to where she and Tiberia reclined behind the litter curtain.
'I think they would, Lady,' he whispered into the fabric. 'Some of them have even torn their clothes for you. Many of them are weeping.'
Livilla felt so excited she was short of breath. 'I will then,' she managed to reply. 'Pinch me,' she hissed at Tiberia.
'What, Mother?'
'Pinch me — pull my hair or something.'
'I can't do that.'
Livilla tried to slap her own face. 'I need to make my eyes water.'
Tiberia picked up her mother's other hand and sank her teeth into it.
'Ow!' Her eyes moistened with the pain. 'Good girl.'
Tiberia looked at her oddly. 'I don't think you should leave the litter, Mother — you're not recovered at all.'
Livilla felt very much recovered but didn't say so. 'They want me to speak to them. I must do so for your father's sake.'
Tiberia began to softly cry again and Livilla again patted her hand. 'I know,' she said. 'I know.'
She drew her veil across her face so that only her eyes could be seen and then raised the litter curtain. Distressed and haggard faces stared back at her. Livilla felt as if her heart was beating in her throat. Her eyes stayed moist on their own account. She was humbled. The litter-bearers lowered her transport to the flagstones. The lictor had already placed a stool for her and she rested her slippered feet on it. Then she stood fully upright to give her a more appropriate height. She looked down at the plain and simple faces of the ordinary Romans — the plebeians, the freedmen and the slaves. Some of them she even recognised. They were Castor's former clients, bereft without their patron. She stood on her toes and craned her neck to see beyond the first few rows. The mob was easily twenty deep, stretching up and down the Via Sacra. There were more people crowded into the entrances of the expensive shops that lined either side of the street. All in all, there were several hundred people waiting to hear her address them.
Livilla's tears flowed down her cheeks without any need for inducement — tears of pride. As a woman, she had never had reason or permission to speak in public in her life. And yet a large crowd had now assembled to hear her. She readied herself to speak.
'Sister!'
Livilla turned in shock. The occupants of the litter that had been approaching from the other direction had alighted and were now forcing a path through the crowd towards her. Three women.
'Sister!'
It was Agrippina with her friends, Sosia and Claudia.
Heads began to turn from Livilla towards the one true widow of Rome. Livilla's moment was being snatched from her.
'My friends,' Livilla began. 'Dear friends of my poor husband.. '
Agrippina pressed her way forward, her face set in such an expression of determination that the rest of the words died on Livilla's tongue. Then Livilla's face flashed with a sudden and terrible fear, something that Agrippina didn't register, nor her friends. But I certainly saw it, being the first slave among Agrippina's trailing retinue. I read the stark terror in Livilla's look and it was obvious to me that she thought Agrippina was about to accuse her.
