called for further disciplinary measures. But Tiberius only brushed aside the tapestry from the wall.
'Why don't you sing something?' he said over his shoulder.
The children gaped at each other in bewilderment. From the floor in front of the curule chair the prostrate choirmaster dared to raise his head a fraction. 'What would please you, Caesar?'
Tiberius gazed into the alcove. 'Something pretty…'
The choirmaster looked to the rod-wielding slave to see if he would be beaten again, but the slave seemed as confused as he was. The choirmaster stood gingerly, his legs black with bruises. 'Choir,' he called to the frightened children, 'let's start with number fourteen.'
The children haltingly began to sing as a tiny voice inside Tiberius willed him not to move a muscle of his hand, even though he let it hover in the air. The tiny voice then willed him not to go any further, even though his hand began to circle and descend. The tiny voice then told him he was weak and effeminate if he intended giving in to his cravings, and that if he went any further it was clear he lacked the resolve of the Fathers.
The tiny voice was familiar — a voice Tiberius knew and loved — yet he hadn't heard it in many long years. It was the voice of his dead brother.
'Shut up! Just shut up!' Tiberius screamed as his fingers made contact with the rim of the large silver bowl.
The children snapped into silence.
'Who told you to stop?' Tiberius turned on them. 'Sing!'
The children lurched into song again as Tiberius felt the contents of the bowl with his fingertips.
From the peephole at the door Sejanus saw everything. He was shamed by the sight — disgusted by it too. He knew that his Emperor was debasing himself. But he also knew that it was best that it happened — best for Tiberius, best for Rome. 'Shall I summon the slave to remove your night soil, Caesar?' he spoke through the door join.
Tiberius shook his head. Then he placed his face inside the bowl. The taste was unexpectedly sweet; the draught of the Eastern flower had obliterated all the filth and impurities with its healing magic.
'Have you read the names upon the ringleader's list yet, Caesar?'
The Emperor paused in lapping his excrement. 'I will read it shortly,' he replied, feeling much better humoured. 'I shall read it with considerable attention.'
Drusus's eyes were on Sosia's yellow stola. The feather-light fabric of it transfixed him in the last of the sun's rays, which streamed through the windows of the dining room. The desire to reach out from where he lay on his couch and touch the lovely garment was so strong it was dangerous. It made Drusus's heart beat like a musician's instrument; it made the sweat gather in the pits of his arms. His practised look of calm hid the frenzy of excuse- making that raged inside his mind. If he touched it, Drusus told himself, he could claim he'd seen a bee on Sosia's arm and that he'd sought to brush it off. Or he could say he'd seen the stola about to snag on a furniture nail. Or he could even say that he simply wanted to feel it, which was the truth — why should it be thought of as shameful? The garment was overwhelmingly beautiful. It was a pleasure to Drusus's eyes — and it was surely an unparalleled pleasure to the skin, too. His hand left the dining cushion and floated in the air, towards his mother's unwitting friend as she delivered her news.
'Drusus,' said his grandmother Antonia.
His hand fell back to the dining cushion with a clap as Antonia looked sternly at him. 'Have you been listening?'
Drusus reddened. His grandmother knew everything — all the contemptible urges and needs that dwelled within him. She knew what he wanted; she knew what he was. She had even written a letter about it to his father, Germanicus, that he had been ordered to deliver in person so that he would receive the consequences. But when the family came to Antioch, they found his father dead. His grief-maddened mother had opened the letter, but the words inside had not been written by his grandmother at all; they said nothing about him. When Drusus read the letter himself, it made no sense; it just contained lurid accusations. All that had mattered to Drusus was that the terrible words — 'transvestite', 'perversion', 'obscene' — had not been there and would never be seen. But his grandmother still knew, even though she had not sought to use it against him since.
'Listening to what?' said Drusus.
There was an uncomfortable pause among the dinner guests. Sosia and her senator husband, Silius, were Agrippina's guests of honour, both seated at her right. Antonia and her widowed daughter Livilla were also in attendance, along with all of Agrippina's children except for Nero. The two youngest sisters began to giggle in their chairs, but the older girl, Nilla, watched her brother Drusus with quiet interest. Agrippina cast an indulgent look at Sosia and Silius, but Antonia's look grew darker.
'Listening to what Sosia has been telling us,' Antonia said. 'It is very serious, Drusus — the Emperor has worked himself up into a state about it.'
'I think it's ridiculous,' said Agrippina. 'What on earth does it matter?'
Antonia's look moved to her daughter-in-law. 'Tiberius is not.. wholly well.'
I hovered among the serving slaves, taking all this in.
'His mind is troubled,' Antonia said — and it was all she would say.
'He's madder than ever,' said Sosia, who had none of Antonia's tact.
The corpulent Senator Silius looked pained from where he sprawled on his dining couch.
'Well, it's true,' said Sosia for his benefit. 'We're among friends here and we can speak with honesty, can't we? His mind is slipping, cracking, whatever you wish to call it. He's making decisions that are deranged — he finds treasonous activities that simply aren't there.'
'He was kind when he was young — a good and decent man,' said Antonia. 'I'll never forget how good he was to me when his brother, my husband, died — your great father, Livilla.'
Curled up like a cat on her own couch, Livilla said nothing, concentrating intently on her food.
'But he is not that man anymore,' Antonia went on. 'Yet perhaps I could still get through to Tiberius? He has no women around him, you see. His only friends are his guards. He needs a woman's words.'
'He might listen to you,' said Agrippina, although she held little faith.
'Is this about the prayers?' asked Drusus, his mind leaving the lure of Sosia's stola.
'Of course it is,' said Antonia. 'The priests made an unforgivable error — unforgivable.' She turned to Livilla. 'Don't you have anything to say about it?'
Livilla looked up at her mother. 'It was all very unfortunate,' she replied. Then she returned to sucking the flesh from a chicken wing.
'But all they asked for was my wellbeing,' said Drusus, 'and Nero's, too. I'm pleased to know they care.'
Antonia was incredulous. 'They asked for it before they asked for the Emperor's wellbeing, Drusus. That's the sort of protocol breach that upsets your grandfather greatly.'
His two youngest sisters wisely ceased their giggles and an uncomfortable pause returned. Drusus caught Nilla's eye and saw how intently she followed what was being discussed. He understood now what the problem was. 'But he would never think that the mistake was mine, would he? Or Nero's?'
'What he thinks is unfathomable,' said Agrippina, sipping her wine. In truth she was just as upset by what had occurred as Antonia was, but she was refusing to show it.
'He's had all the priests questioned by Sejanus,' said Sosia. 'All except Nero, obviously.'
Livilla's eyes flicked up from her chicken bone before she threw it to the floor. She held her fingers out for another and, as I was the slave nearest to hand, I offered the serving tray to her. She took a fresh wing from me as if I didn't exist.
'What did the priests tell him?' asked Antonia.
'That it was all an accident, an oversight,' said Silius from his couch. He was a large man, unattractive in his dining tunica, and his dignity was always diminished whenever he wore anything other than his toga. Resuming her seat next to him, Sosia placed her hand upon his. 'But still it's put Tiberius into one of his fogs,' said Silius.
Drusus vaguely wished his older brother were there, so that he could share the burden of this unpleasantness. But Nero had taken to avoiding evening meals with his family.
I took a small jug of liguamen from one of the other serving slaves and dribbled the pungent fish sauce over Little Boots's food, using the opportunity to catch his eye. He had been silent throughout the entire meal, which was nothing new, but he had been steadily avoiding me since the incident with Lygdus at the baths. I presumed he was still guilt-ridden, and not for the first time I attempted to mend things between us. But the look he gave me as I
