death and then imagine how it will be when we achieve Nero's.'
Lygdus said nothing.
'Everything we do, we do to build a better Rome, a golden Rome, the city foreseen by the goddess — '
'How much better will it be?' he interrupted me. There was something odd about his manner, but in my pleasure at his company I dismissed it.
'It is my belief now that the Great Mother intended Tiberius to be the first king only to make the people appreciate the qualities of the second king all the more. For every glaring fault that Tiberius has, and for every cruel injustice that he brings, Little Boots's rule, when you and I take him to the throne, Lygdus, will be so much more glorious in contrast.'
'Is that what the prophecy actually said?'
A tiny cry of doubt rang sharply in my heart, making me lose my thoughts for a moment.
'Iphicles?'
The cry came again, unintelligible and devoid of meaning — except for the sensation of doubt itself. Why was I feeling it?
What did it mean?
'Is that what the prophecy actually said, Iphicles?'
I recovered my wits. 'Thrasyllus said that the second king would wear his father's crown. Little Boots's father was Germanicus — a man more loved by Rome than any other. When Little Boots reigns, his father's glory will become his own — that's what the words mean.'
'Will he make the slaves free?'
I was thrown. 'Is that what you want, Lygdus?'
'With all my heart.'
I was moved to hear this; I, who had never desired anything but to be close to those I served. But I knew that a Rome without slaves would be a Rome left in ruins. We slaves were Rome, and to free us would be to lose us. Mass emancipation would never happen, no matter how golden the king. 'Your wishes will be answered,' I lied to him as I would to a child. 'Keep praying to the Great Mother.' With time I hoped that Lygdus would appreciate the true joys of slavery and forget his dreams.
The eunuch nodded, giving the appearance of digesting all I'd said, and I felt a rush of unexpected feeling for him that must have shown in my face.
'What is it, Iphicles?'
I shook my head, embarrassed. 'You… you are doing very well at this, Lygdus,' I whispered. Then I darted into the shadows. I briefly saw his bulk illuminated in the light of a lamp before I reached the door to the street outside and was gone.
I knew what I felt for him — of course I did — it was pride. But that same pride wouldn't let me speak of it. I, the slave Iphicles, who had willingly sacrificed my manhood to my domina, sacrificed my hopes of fathering children too. But the Great Mother had rewarded her Attis. Lygdus was my apprentice, yes — my assistant in destiny — but he was more than this. He wasn't yet seventeen. He was raw, unsophisticated and had so much more to learn. I was his teacher, and it was my duty to be so if destiny was to be achieved. But it was also my joy — the joy a father felt. Cybele had blessed me a thousand times over. She had given me a son in Lygdus.
But my son, once I had gone, returned to his task of keeping watch over Nero. He discreetly pulled the door closed, keeping his vigil on the other side. He didn't care if Nero had seen him do it — in a way, he hoped he had. The more Nero came to believe that Lygdus was a very special slave, the more Lygdus had hope that he would one day become one.
As the eunuch waited, he crouched in the shadows, making a solemn, sacred vow. He muttered an oath to all the gods, a furtive pledge of betrayal that he intended, at all costs, to keep hidden from me.
'Nero is the son of Germanicus too,' he whispered to himself.'Sometimes I think you forget that, Iphicles.'
Tiberius's eye was on the large silver bowl that sat on the floor in an alcove, beyond the tapestry that hung behind his ivory curule chair. And although Tiberius occupied the chair and had his back to the tapestry and the alcove and the bowl, Sejanus knew that it was still where Tiberius's eye was aimed, if only within his churning, tortured heart. Tiberius hoped that by hiding the shameful bowl from view and filling the room with witnesses, he would be better able to resist what the bowl offered. But Sejanus knew better.
Sejanus's own eye was at the peephole in the heavy bronze doors, which Tiberius was yet to realise allowed a viewer to look outside the receiving room or to look in. From the other side of the doors Sejanus stared at Tiberius intently, waiting for the old man to reply to him. He knew the Emperor had heard what had been asked — Sejanus had seen the words strike Tiberius like a pebble thrown at the surface of a pond. The ripples of understanding slowly spread to the water's edge.
'Civil war?' said Tiberius.
'She has a faction, Caesar. She gathers more supporters to her side every day,' said Sejanus from outside, through the join of the doors.
Tiberius made to wave his hand in a gesture he intended to be dismissive, but the effort was too much for him and his hand flopped at his side.
'It's what she plans, Caesar — the streets are full of it.'
'Your spies are paid to tell you these things,' Tiberius muttered. 'Hasn't it occurred to you that this only encourages them to fabricate?'
Sejanus felt the hurt in his heart at this but said nothing, waiting.
Inside the room two of the youngest choirgirls began to cry softly. 'Stop that,' Tiberius said. The girls did.
The petrified choirmaster attempted to speak without raising his head from the floor where he had prostrated himself before Tiberius's curule chair. 'Caesar?'
'Stop that,' said Tiberius again. He turned slowly around in his chair until the rich, golden tapestry filled his vision. It was beautiful.
'But if the choir could just sing for you, Caesar…' the choirmaster tried to say.
Tiberius slapped his hand on the chair's arm and a slave shuffled forward with an iron rod in his hands. 'Hit him,' said Tiberius.
The slave struck the prostrate choirmaster twice on the legs, and the hapless man bit back his pain as the forty assembled children of the Patrician Youth Choir bit back their own cries of fear and distress.
The room stayed in tomblike silence. Tiberius rose unsteadily from his chair and fell to his knees before the tapestry.
'Civil war can be avoided, Caesar,' Sejanus said from the other side of the door, still watching Tiberius through the peephole.
The reminder that Sejanus was still there snapped Tiberius from the tapestry. 'How?'
'By removing the ringleaders.'
'Who are they?'
'I have made a list,' said Sejanus. He began to slip a sheet of papyrus under the door. 'And I have detailed some other matters — '
'More tall tales from spies, you mean.' Tiberius watched the papyrus curl under the door — as did the frightened children of the Patrician Youth Choir. But he didn't move to read it. 'I will not have my daughter-in-law attacked, Sejanus,' he said, as his eye returned to the tapestry. 'Grief has made Agrippina unstable — she isn't well. She no longer knows her own mind.'
Another wave of hurt crushed Sejanus. 'But she plots against you, Caesar. I have the evidence. She is a danger to you.'
'She no longer knows her own mind.'
Sejanus said nothing for a time. Then he said quietly, 'She is innocent — a figurehead for the sedition of others.'
Tiberius ran his hands along the rich embroidered fabric. 'She is a widow worthy of Rome's respect.'
'You will see that I have not even listed her,' said Sejanus. 'You have no reason to fear for her, Caesar.'
'Good. Very good…'
Another child began to weep from the choir. The slave with the iron rod tensed himself, expecting to be
