Tiberia.'
His sister shook her head. 'Go and visit Uncle Claudius,' she said. 'Stay at his house until this is done.'
'No,' Gemellus wailed. 'I want my Mama! Mama!'
Tiberia's look was very cold. 'She is no longer our mama, Gemellus. She is filth. She had Papa poisoned. Papa is the one we must mourn, not her. She is not worthy of tears. She is not worthy of a funeral pyre.'
Gemellus rushed at her and tried to strike her with his fists, but Tiberia stopped her little brother easily, holding him by the wrists. He began to sob hysterically while Tiberia soothed him, still holding his hands. Seated on the other stool, Antonia saw nothing, so focused was she on the sounds behind the door. Gemellus subsided at last, broken.
'How long?' he whimpered.
'Until she is dead from hunger and thirst. That is her punishment.'
'But why that? It's so cruel.'
Tiberia looked to the revered matron at her side. Antonia's eyes were closed as if asleep but she muttered prayers beneath her breath. 'It's what our noble grandmother asked of the Senate,' Tiberia answered. 'And they granted it. So we will not move until it is done. It is a fitting punishment for her and a fitting punishment for us.'
'A punishment for us?' Gemellus began to cry. 'But we didn't do anything.'
'No,' said Tiberia. 'We did nothing at all. We didn't see, we didn't hear and, worst of all, we didn't imagine what our mother was doing. We were fools in her service, no better than her eunuch. We failed to use the wits the gods gave us and we allowed Papa to die. That is why we will sit here and suffer our mother's cruel death.'
Inside the room Livilla fell to the floor, unable to scream any more. It had been more than a day since she'd swallowed water and another again since she'd taken food. She knew exactly how long people took to die this way. It would not be a matter of days but weeks. In the long hours before death her tongue would blacken, protruding obscenely from her lips. Her fingernails would curl and fall from her hands, along with the hair from her head. Her stomach would dissolve itself in acid, her liver and kidneys too. Her body would weigh less than a child's by the end and its putrefaction would poison the walls. Most ironically of all, her eyesight would fail in her final minutes of existence. She would journey to the Underworld in complete darkness, as blind as her bitterest enemy.
A tiny voice tried to sing in her ear. 'No…' she moaned, waving it away. 'Please, no!' But the voice was persistent. It had kissed her at the moment the door had been locked, and whenever she fell quiet it kissed her again. 'Please!' she whispered. 'I don't want to hear — I don't want to hear!' The voice ignored her.
' One would-be queen knows hunger's pangs when Cerberus conducts her…'
Livilla stared at her companion in starvation, the dog Scylax, whimpering on the floor, condemned by the Senate to die with her. How long, Livilla trembled, before Scylax's loyalty gave way to a baser instinct? Would she be dead when it happened, she wondered? Or would her final words be those of her begging the dog not to tear her throat out?
THE CHILD WILL RULE
The Nones of November
AD 31
One week later: Rome's rage against Sejanus begins to subside when his children are strangled in prison
Tiberius fought to stop his hands shaking so he could press his ring into the soft wax. He left it there for as long as he dared, blowing on the wax to cool it, before the tremors could be held off no more and he lifted his hand. But the little imprint of the eagle was perfect; no edges had blurred. This was a good omen.
'See, Macro,' he said. 'The eagle is beautiful. Agrippina's release from imprisonment is signed, and Drusus's too. My family are freed.'
'Caesar is merciful,' said Macro, who was now Prefect of the Praetorian Guard. He carefully took the directive from Tiberius's hands.
With the day's most pressing task complete, Tiberius felt his anxiety return. 'When will Antonia come back?' he asked. 'Has she sent word from Rome?'
'Until the Lady informs you directly of her plans, Caesar, I cannot know. Her correspondence is for your eyes only.'
'Yes. Yes, of course. There is nothing among my letters, nothing from her?'
'It appears not.'
'Perhaps tomorrow, then.' The skin on Tiberius's arms felt as if ants were crawling on it, but when he scratched the itch there was nothing to be seen.
Macro studied him with detachment. 'I'm sure Antonia's letter is imminent, Caesar, as is her return. I have been told that Livilla is dead.'
Tiberius took some comfort from this. When Macro had gone, he rifled through the morning's letters and scrolls again, making sure that nothing from Antonia had slipped his eye. The lid on a nondescript canister was loose, and when he tossed it aside the thing opened. A little glass vial slipped out and onto the ground.
Tiberius stopped still, staring at the object. Fear clenched him at once, but as he stared the feeling subsided after several minutes, replaced by something more familiar to him: compulsion. His tremor was terrible as he tried to reach for the vial, his right hand shaking so much he couldn't grip the glass. He had to use both his hands, the left steadying the right, just to pick it up. He opened the lid and the sweet stink of the Eastern flower emerged. He flung it away into the garden.
'Macro!' he stammered in rage, looking wildly about him. 'Is this some joke from you, Macro, is it? Taunting your Emperor?'
But Macro had left the terrace. Tiberius was alone.
Tiberius gawked at where the vial had fallen. The draught was seeping into the soil of an autumn flowerbed. Beginning to weep at his shattered willpower, Tiberius stumbled from his couch and crawled to the bed on his knees. Once he reached it, he pressed his mouth to the spill, sucking the dirt through his teeth.
He had begun the morning hoping for Antonia's return. He finished it praying she would be endlessly delayed.
On his way to the dock to where the trireme waited, Macro saw Little Boots and Aemilius lazing themselves in the Emperor's pleasure garden. He smiled to himself. 'Not at school?' he called out.
The two boys started at being sprung and snatched up scrolls, having him believe they were studying. Macro laughed.
Little Boots tossed his scroll aside with disgust, not bothering with a front. 'I'm far too old for school — it's humiliating,' he called, plumping the cushion he had been resting on.
As he turned to continue on his way, Macro noticed which cushion it was. Sedeo — 'I sit' — was embroidered on its seat. 'Is that the present from your great-grandmother?' he rebuked over his shoulder. 'You should take greater care not to get it dirty, Little Boots.'
'How did he know who gave it to you?'Aemilius said, amazed.
Little Boots looked blank for a moment, then took off at a run.
'Where are you going?' Aemilius called.
Macro heard him coming as he approached the dock and stopped, not bothering to turn around. The youth faced him and Macro cocked an eyebrow at him benignly.
Little Boots realised his mouth had gone dry. 'Do — do you know the significance of my great-grandmother's present?' he stammered.
'Yes, I do,' said Macro.
Little Boots waited but nothing more came. 'Well? Will you tell me?'
'No,' said Macro.
Frustration boiled in Little Boots. 'That is unfair! If you know what it is, you should tell me. Why is a stupid cushion so significant?'
