musicians with only the slightest variations each time.
But one day, with this torture in my ears and my mind drifting like the tide, I heard a departure from the song. I had not been upright when Sejanus had entered the room and so had not seen him, only heard. I was prone still from the night before, and my domina had quashed the stink of my newest sores by dripping scented oil where I lay. Yet she did not order me gone.
When I had heard Sejanus arrive, I had allowed myself to snooze. But the Prefect's cries, when they came, woke me not because of their passion or volume, but their tone. There was a new delight behind them — a childlike thrill. Sejanus was like a lover experiencing euphoria for the first time. He shouted with all the glee of discovery, as if my domina was a novelty to him, a precious treasure he had long desired. Then I saw why.
Wanting the wounds on my face to be equal on each cheek, I made the one movement I allowed myself when prone. I lifted the left side of my face and turned my head so my right cheek could press against the tacks. In doing so my eyes opened involuntarily, barely a crack, and I glimpsed Sejanus's clothes upon the floor. His helmet seemed odd: the plume had been altered in some way. It was not the decoration I recognised as a Prefect's. Had the rank signifiers been changed, I wondered, in the face of centuries of tradition? Or, even more extraordinarily, had Sejanus been demoted? His was not the helmet of a Prefect on the floor but of a Tribune.
Then I guessed the answer. It was not Sejanus seeking his pleasures upon my domina at all, but his subordinate, Macro, for whom the joy was new. Livia had a fresh instrument in her schemes.
Despite being lower than a worm, I could never cease admiring her for keeping me so constantly surprised.
Little Boots and Aemilius stared in fascination at the cup. 'Pick it up,' said Little Boots.
'You pick it up,' said Aemilius.
Little Boots hated to appear a coward in the face of a dare. He let his fingers stroke the jewels on the side of the vessel for a moment before clutching the thing by the stem and raising it.
His little sister Julilla gasped. 'You'll be caught.'
This spurred him further. He posed with the thing, mimicking Tiberius's gestures. 'He's asleep — how will he know?'
'No one but Grandfather touches that cup.'
'So why did he leave it here where we could find it?'
'Perhaps he's not well today?' Drusilla suggested, electrified, watching on with her younger sister.
'When is he well any day?' quipped Little Boots.
This prompted the others to laugh before they clapped hands to their mouths, lest they be heard.
'Smell it,' said Little Boots, thrusting the cup towards Aemilius's nose.
'No!' Aemilius recoiled.
'Weakling,' said Little Boots. He held his own nose to the cup. The dregs of a thick brown liquid sat in the bottom. Whatever it was, it did not smell unpleasant. It smelled sweet, if anything, like wine brewed from honey.
'What is it?' asked Julilla, wide-eyed. 'Is it poison?'
'Why would Tiberius drink poison?' said Drusilla.
'To fortify himself against his enemies?'
'That's hell of a lot of fortifying he does then,' said Aemilius, smirking at Little Boots. 'He does it all day and all night.'
'Perhaps it's an antidote?'
Julilla's theory was dismissed by the older children, who already had their own suspicions about what the strange liquid might be.
'Drink it,' said Little Boots to Aemilius.
'No fear,' said Aemilius. 'I'm not touching anything the old man's been drooling in.'
'But it's magic,' said Little Boots. 'You know it is. Don't you want to see the trick?'
'What trick? Turn into something like him? I see that trick every day when he does it, thanks.'
'Weakling,' said Little Boots again, making as if to throw the contents at him.
'Don't you dare!' yelled Aemilius, trying to cover himself.
Drusilla's eyes followed her brother's best friend, secretly liking the way his long, bare limbs moved with such athletic grace in the sun. She knew what the drink did; she had watched her grandfather enough times to guess it. It removed inhibitions. It made a person bolder — and happier. She could see nothing wrong with attaining such things when forced, as she was, to live in constant unhappiness on this island. To be made free of conscience and self-loathing would be the greatest of gifts, she thought. It was no wonder the Emperor so jealously guarded it.
'I'll drink it,' she said.
The boys turned to her in surprise before casting looks at each other.
'Really?' said Little Boots.
Drusilla clicked her fingers for her brother to pass it to her before her courage failed. 'Why not? It's magic, isn't it?'
'Go on then,' said Little Boots, thrusting the thing at her. He doubted she had the nerve.
'What'll you give me if I do?' said Drusilla, gazing into the cup. She raised her eyes and met Aemilius's look.
'Aemilius will give you a kiss,' laughed Little Boots, thinking this would appall her.
It didn't. Aemilius flushed red.
'Don't, Drusilla,' said little Julilla, horrified. 'The Emperor spat in it!'
Drusilla let the liquid touch her lips. It was as sweet as it smelled — like nectar. 'Mmm,' she purred, making a show of her daring for Aemilius's benefit. 'It really is quite nice…'
Burrus stood back as the midwives presented the tiny child to Ahenobarbus, placing it at his feet.
'A girl, domine,' said the older midwife. 'An ornament to your house. And the mother is resting well.'
The companion midwife cast a glance at the woman standing next to this silent master, staring at the newborn with intensity. It was unorthodox for a husband to have a female friend in attendance with him during his firstborn's birth — let alone one so immodestly dressed. But it was no more unorthodox, perhaps, than a domina holding the hand of a male slave throughout her labour.
'She has come into this world with her mother's beautiful fair hair,' said the older midwife, hoping to elicit a response from Ahenobarbus. 'But who knows? Perhaps she'll grow her papa's fiery locks before long?'
Something in these words snapped Ahenobarbus from his stare. He met eyes with Burrus, who looked down to the ground. The slave was not anxious at what Ahenobarbus's response to the baby might be. He already knew that Nilla's husband would pick up the child and acknowledge it. There was an agreement in place between all four of them — he and Nilla, Ahenobarbus and Albucilla — an agreement had been struck when Nilla's monthly flow ceased and she had known she was carrying a child. Albucilla's hand brushed her lover's arm and he cocked his ear to let her whisper in it. Practised in tactfulness, the midwives gave no visible reaction to this provocative display, waiting in silence. Ahenobarbus stooped and picked up the child.
'Ah. There now,' said the older midwife, beaming.
Ahenobarbus and Albucilla raked the child with their eyes.
'The hair,' said Albucilla. 'You say it will turn red?'
'I'm sure it will, yes,' said the midwife, good-naturedly. But she was not sure. Sometimes babies didn't gain the colour of red-haired fathers — a misfortune that had been known to cause wills to be redrawn even when the mother was blameless. But in this case, the midwife already suspected, there was blame on all sides.
Ahenobarbus met eyes with Burrus again, expressionless. Then his lips split to reveal an unsettling grin.
Albucilla was not grinning. 'Fetch its mother,' she said to Burrus.
Burrus frowned. 'She is asleep. She lost blood.'
'Fetch her,' she repeated. 'Bring her down to your master now. He wishes to congratulate her.'
Burrus knew that something was awry. The agreement was threatened. 'All right.' He left the room.
The midwives were apprehensive without knowing why.
Burrus took the stairs two at a time, but slowed when he reached the upper gallery, not wanting to wake Nilla in alarm. He reached the door to her room they shared, the room that had once been the witch Aemilia's. The aged maid was seated crosslegged on the pallet.
