The girls fled inside the Emperor's villa.
Antonia turned to the rest of the children. 'If you are to be fit company for your Emperor and me, then not only will you be attired with decency and humility from this day forward, but you will also be attending school.'
Clutching his throbbing cheek, Little Boots's look to his friend Aemilius was one of genuine horror.
The eleventh day before the Kalends of November AD 31
Two days later: the nascent cult of Christ proclaims Stephen its first martyr
Staring out to sea from the island's best vantage point, high up on the rocks, Lygdus saw a ship on the horizon. He watched its progress for a moment before he knew with certainty what sort of vessel it was: an Imperial trireme. The day had come. Resolute, he picked his way from his perch and along the beach and up the path again towards the island's single dwelling.
Tending the vines in a wide straw hat, Nero read the expression on the eunuch's face and discerned what the news was without Lygdus even needing to say it. 'So then.'
Lygdus could only nod, anxious of what he might do if he spoke. His emotions were in danger of overwhelming him.
Nero took off his straw hat. His face showed no fear.
Lygdus fell to one knee. 'Give me your courage, domine,' he pleaded.
Nero touched his shoulder and made him rise again. 'Courage brought you here in the first place, Lygdus. If you had not heard Macro's pillow-talk and acted with true courage by coming to Pontia, I would not have had the luxury of acceptance. To know your own fate in advance is a gift in situations like this. It has let me prepare for it.'
'But it is wrong.'
Nero didn't disagree. But in the long months spent alone on this island he had learned one true thing about himself: he was his mother's son. 'I have no fear at what is ahead, only gratitude that this waiting will end.'
'Oh domine — '
Nero shook his head. They had spoken of what the final moment must be and it could not include tears. Side by side, they left the vines and entered the small villa. Two swords lay in readiness before the wax mask of Nero's murdered father.
'Thank you, domine,' Lygdus whispered, 'for the privilege of being your slave.'
'You were never my slave,' said Nero. 'From the beginning you have been nothing less than my friend.'
As the two friends took the swords in their hands, the faintest refrain of a song kissed the air: ' The one near sea falls by a lie that comes from the gelding's tongue…'
It came too late. The words fell unheard.
The Imperial trireme had docked at Pontia's tiny wharf. Macro waited at the prow, watching the progress of two of his men as they made the return trek from the lone villa. They were distressed; he could tell it from a distance.
'Where is he?' Macro demanded of them when they reached the dock again. 'Where is the Emperor's grandson? We have come here to free him.'
The Praetorians saluted. 'We must report a tragedy, Tribune. Nero is dead, along with a eunuch. They have fallen on swords.'
'But Nero was alive! We saw him tending the vines on the hill as the ship neared the dock.'
'His blood is still warm, Tribune, but his life has expired. He is dead.'
Macro feigned horror convincingly enough for his unsoph isticated men. 'This makes no sense. Why would he kill himself before he'd heard what we have to tell him? His liberty had been granted!'
The Praetorians had no answer.
'The poor lad,' said Macro, as if it now came to him. 'I see what it was. He'd become so maddened in his exile that he believed we were here to kill him.'
The Praetorians nodded, moved. This was likely so, they agreed.
'Lament my fate, boys,' Macro said. 'It falls to me to break this tragedy to the Emperor.'
On his public horse Sejanus rode at walking pace up the graceful slope of the Palatine. The hillside poplars had turned gold in the crisp autumn sun, and the majestic Temple of Apollo slowly came into sight. In excellent spirits Sejanus turned to the cohort behind him. 'There it is!'
The Praetorians were all cheers. Sejanus dismounted his horse to ascend the Temple steps with the full body of guards behind him. A brigade of vigiles, the civic police, was posted at the great iron doors.
'Hail, Prefect,' said the superior officer.
'This is irregular,' said Sejanus. 'Why are you vigiles here?'
The civic officers looked at each other. 'Nothing irregular about it for us, Prefect,' said the superior. 'This is where we're always posted. It's the Temple of Apollo. And a great day of honour for you, Prefect, if you'll accept our congratulations for it.'
Sejanus disliked vigiles. They were undisciplined street rabble, in his view. 'You are not required. The Praetorian Guard will do duty here today. Take your men and go.'
The vigiles didn't move. 'If you'll forgive me, Prefect,' said the superior, 'we will not go. This Temple has been our patch since it was built. Augustus himself posted us here. You Praetorians have your little duties and we have ours. This is one of them.'
Sejanus thrust his face at the other man. 'Do you even realise what is happening inside here today?'
'Yes, Prefect,' said the superior. 'You are receiving the tribunitia potestas from the Senate, which holds an extraordinary session in this Temple on the same day every year. It is a day of honour for us — we're posted here to guard the Senators — and it is a day of honour for you, Prefect, to be so highly awarded. As I said, allow us to offer our — '
'Stand aside and let me and my men enter the Senate meeting,' Sejanus demanded.
The officer stood aside but his men grasped their swords. 'Please enter with our best wishes and congratulations, Prefect. But your Praetorians may not follow you. This is our turf and they must leave it now.'
It was only Sejanus's keen anticipation of the high honour within that stopped him from arresting the man as a traitor, and all the vigiles with him. He turned to his own junior officer. 'Secure my horse, but take yourselves back to the barracks.'
There were groans of disappointment but Sejanus raised his hand. 'I will return in time. Pour some wine for me in readiness.' The guards grumbled until the junior officer initiated a cheer. Sejanus saluted them off before looking the vigiles ' superior officer hard in the eye. 'I will remember this,' he said.
'I don't doubt it,' said the officer, once the Temple door had closed securely behind Sejanus.
Inside, escorted by four vigiles to an anteroom, Sejanus learned that Senate protocol dictated he must wait until called. Sejanus bridled at this, too, but the men were sympathetic. In the bestowing of great honours, they told him, Senators traditionally strived to make the glory reflect upon themselves. Sejanus could well be waiting for some time while his achievements were lauded by the august body. When he was eventually called, Sejanus could be sure that the Senators would have worked themselves up into such a congratulatory frenzy that the applause would bring him near to deafness and the backslapping would likely cripple him. Sejanus laughed at their humour — a rare thing — accepted a cup of wine and sat down in the anteroom alone.
He could half-hear the proceedings being conducted — dull administrative matters. But when his ears pricked at the first mention of his name, Sejanus found himself struck by nerves. For his entire life his Achilles heel had been the mystery of his birth. That he was Roman was not doubted but his parentage was a mystery. His earliest memories were of the Greek physician he had been apprenticed to from the time he could walk. He knew no birth father. When he was a child, some people had called him slave for this, but he had never been treated as one.
When Sejanus was twelve, the physician's downfall had caused him to be thrust before Tiberius. He had seen then what his life could be. The grieving general and future Emperor had a need for him, a need that Sejanus could ensure did not go away. It never had. Tiberius's need had led his loyal 'son' to the very cusp of true greatness. Everything Sejanus had strived for — all he deserved — was so close.
Yet with the august body of highborn men now lauding his name, Sejanus felt the familiar twinge of doubt. When he stepped out to receive his honour, would the congratulations be real? Or would he look behind the Senators' eyes and see them calling him slave in their hearts?
Sejanus removed a little vial from beneath his cuirass and loosened its stopper, sipping the contents. The effects of the Eastern flower were instant. He took another sip, letting the wave of pleasure wash over him, before
