‘Did he say five, ma’am? I don’t recall there being that many.’
She put her head on one side and stared at him. ‘Well how many were there?’
‘Well, to tell you the truth, I think Alityros got a better look at them than me. I didn’t actually see any I’m afraid.’
‘Oh that is such a disappointment,’ she said. ‘I’ve always wanted to know what they look like. Alityros, you are a dreadful fibber, you know that?’
‘Yes, ma’am,’ he replied, looking down at his feet once more.
‘Well, I promise that when I do find a sea monster, you shall personally fight it in the arena. How’s that for a punishment?’ The tinkling laugh rang through the lofty chamber.
‘I think it fits the crime perfectly,’ said Josephus, joining in the merriment.
The slave returned with a tray and for the next few minutes, the three made small talk, Josephus telling her about their journey and Poppaea updating Alityros on all the latest gossip, in between studying the letter of recommendation from Proculus. Having read it, Poppaea rolled it back up and placed it next to the work of Virgil she’d been reading when they came in. ‘So I understand you’re here to see my husband?’ she said.
‘Yes, ma’am.’
‘Well, before you get to see him, you’re going to have to convince me of the justice of your case first. Then, and only then, will I intercede on your behalf.’ The switch from good-humoured banter to steely-eyed statesmanship was instant and it caught Josephus off guard.
‘Do you understand me?’ He nodded and she continued, speaking this time to Alityros. ‘And as for you, you can trot along and make your excuses to your lord, my husband. He has a very special punishment arranged for you for arriving so many days late.’
Alityros went pale. ‘But, ma’am, the shipwreck, we got here as fast as we could… it was none of my doing – ’
‘Since when did that matter? My husband has composed a new poem in honour of Jupiter and has set it to music: you are to listen to it in full and I don’t need to remind you of how wonderful you are to find it.’
‘But ma’am, the one he wrote in honour of Mercury went on for three hours.’
Poppaea remained stony-faced. ‘I’ve heard this one’s even longer. That’ll teach you to come in here with sailors’ yarns about sea monsters. Now leave!’
For all the studied frivolity in the exchange, Josephus had learned much. He’d seen two brief vignettes – firstly, a beautiful, aristocratic and intelligent woman bantering with a parvenu actor, and secondly, a tiny glimpse of the quick-thinking, ruthless schemer – married off to Crispinus, the leader of Claudius’ Praetorian Guard, at fourteen – who then made a timely change of allegiance which led her first into the bed of future emperor Otho, and then, when once more she sensed the wind blowing from another quarter, into the arms of the unstable but talented Nero.
‘Come sit by me,’ said Poppaea, patting the lush upholstery of her couch. ‘I’m intrigued.’
‘Intrigued by what, ma’am?’ He did as she asked but with a mounting sense of unease, feeling for all the world like a fly on the receiving end of charming small-talk from a hungry spider.
‘Oh, by lots of things,’ she said with a wave of her hand. ‘Why you’ve come all this way; risked your life to plead for your quarrelsome, antisocial countrymen. And by you in particular: Proculus’ letter confirms what Alityros told me about you.’
He swallowed. ‘Which is?’
‘That you are a young man of noble birth, a member of the priestly class.’
Josephus bowed his head. ‘That is true. But you mention Proculus, ma’am. He made it very clear that my rank in Judea makes me a lord of the dunghill in Rome’s opinion.’
She smiled at the self-deprecation but the terrible cold eyes sent a shiver through his being, and he thought of the cruelty they must have witnessed over the years: the eyes of Lamia. ‘You learn quickly,’ she said. ‘An admirable quality and one that will do much to keep you alive, Josephus. Do you know what the other one is?’
‘No ma’am.’
‘Loyalty.’
‘An admirable quality, I agree,’ he replied in deferential tones.
She frowned and studied her manicured fingernails. ‘Only up to a point, of course. You see, timing is everything. Loyalty is useless if it’s given to the wrong person at the wrong time; remember that and you may well stay alive long enough to die in your bed.’
‘I’ll do my best, ma’am.’
‘A wise decision,’ she said, leaning over the table and making great show of deliberating in her choice prior to helping herself to a fig. As she leant forward, the top of her white tunic dress gaped open allowing Josephus a clear view of her pale breasts with their small, pinky-brown nipples. She sensed his unease and savoured the moment before sitting back upright and turning her gaze on him once more. ‘Now, to business,’ she said. ‘I understand you’ve already done some – how shall I put it? – freelance work on the empire’s behalf. I’m intrigued. Loyalty or self-interest?’
‘Pure self-interest.’
‘I like your honesty. Another admirable quality if applied in moderation – something that dear Lucius Annaeus Seneca would do well to remember – I take it you’re familiar with his work?’ Josephus nodded and she continued. ‘Good, because when you speak to my husband he’ll tell you more about it, but Seneca is worried about the personality cult developing around one of your countrymen, the one they call The Christ.’
‘It worries me too, ma’am. Evil men are deluding the uneducated with this nonsense and endangering the natural order. I have a personal interest in seeing them fail.’
The cold but beautiful smile flashed once more. ‘Good: we’re in agreement then,’ said Poppaea. ‘The leaders of the cult refuse to listen so they’re obviously going to have to learn the hard way. Whether you, I or my husband would agree on what constitutes the “natural order”, as you put it, is an irrelevance.’
‘I think we can agree on enough to make it work,’ said Josephus.
Her face told him at once that he’d overstepped the mark. ‘Do not get ideas above your station. If we work together it will be on our terms. Learn quickly and remain loyal to those you serve and you won’t be the loser. Remember that when you talk to the emperor tomorrow.’
‘I thought you said you wanted to hear my case regarding the priests.’
She looked at him intently. ‘In all honesty I don’t care whether my husband releases them or sends them to the arena. My concern is that you don’t waste his time or upset him and from what I’ve seen you’re intelligent enough not to do either.’ Her smile faded and she looked away. ‘The emperor angers quickly and when he does, it’s not always easy for those nearest to him. Anger him and you will answer to me. Understand?’
‘Yes ma’am.’
‘Good. Now you may leave, but be sure, we will speak again.’ With that, she smiled once more, leaned towards him and sliding her hand under his tunic, squeezed his balls painfully hard.
In considerable discomfort and with his mind still reeling, Josephus was led away to a walled garden with a fountain at its centre where he sat in the shade, awaiting Alityros’ return. The afternoon wore on and lulled by the warmth, Josephus fell asleep. No sooner had he dropped off than he was awakened by someone sitting down next to him. For a moment, he looked around, unsure where he was, but then the sight of a familiar face brought him back to reality.
‘Alityros,’ he exclaimed. ‘I wasn’t expecting you for ages. How did you escape so soon?’
‘Oh, I have my ways. It’s a trick I can’t try too often or he’ll rumble it, but when I get to a point where I can’t stand his doggerel any longer, I ask if I can join in with the singing, so entranced am I by the beauty of his verse and the sweetness of his voice.’ Josephus laughed at the hand-waving, bowing and over-acting of his friend.
‘And why does that get you off the hook?’
‘You’ve obviously never heard me sing: fo
r miles around, dogs howl, babies cry and milk curdles. He puts up with it for a couple of verses and then tells me to stop, at which point I fall to the ground in floods of tears – I may be a rotten singer, but I can at least act – and beg leave to withdraw in order to get over the emotional effects of being exposed to such beauty, yet at the same time being cruelly forbidden by my nature to be able to participate in it….or some such guff.’
‘And he falls for it every time?’
‘He has done so far, but I’d better not try it too often.’
Josephus became serious once more and gazed into the dancing waters of the fountain as though searching for inspiration. ‘He wants to see me tomorrow,’ he said.
‘I know,’ said Alityros. ‘Poppaea told me. What did you think of her, by the way?’
‘She scared me rigid.’
‘Yes, she does that sometimes.’
‘She flashed her tits at me.’
‘Yes, she does that too, just to see how you react. Wasted on me of course.’
‘And she doesn’t scare you?’
‘She’s no threat to me,’ said the actor. ‘And that’s because I’m no threat to her. I’m from an ordinary plebeian family, a camp old thesp who makes her laugh and indulges her husband when he wants to play at being a poet and musician. You, on the other hand, are different.’
A worried frown crossed Josephus’ face. ‘You mean she thinks I could be a threat?’
‘Not a threat, no. Her main interest is that you don’t become one. Don’t forget, you’re an outsider and worse still, in their eyes you carry all the baggage that comes with being a Jew. Remember what Proculus told you?’ Josephus nodded. ‘Play straight with them, swallow your pride and in time, they may start to trust you. But for now, they’ll be watching you like hawks and if they so much as get a whiff of anything that isn’t right, well – ’ Alityros made a throat-slitting gesture that left Josephus in no doubt.
‘It’s the way she switches the charm on and off that frightened me the most,’ he said.
‘Count yourself lucky. Showing you what she’s like when it’s switched off was a gentle warning to remember your place.’
‘And then as I was about to leave she, she – ’ Josephus blushed.
‘She what?’
‘Grabbed me by the balls. It hurt too.’
Alityros threw his head back and laughed. ‘Don’t worry, that’s just another of her ways of letting you know who’s in charge. If they hurt for a bit, it’s a reminder that aching knackers are preferable to having them cut off, roasted and then being forced to eat them.’
Josephus crossed his legs at the thought. ‘That isn’t funny,’ he said.
‘It wasn’t meant to be. She’s done it before if the rumours are correct. She’s a connoisseur of men’s balls: the “carnal delights”, as they’re called round here are a very big part of her life.’
‘She’ll cut yours off if she hears you’ve been spreading stories like that.’
Alityros laughed. ‘It’s one of the worst-kept secrets on the Palatine. Nero prefers boys – and before you ask, I’m too old and raddled for his tastes – but when he’s with her sometimes he has trouble getting it up so Poppaea has to look elsewhere for her amusement.’
Josephus looked at him aghast. ‘Such as where? She’s the emperor’s wife for heaven’s sake.’
‘Oh, anywhere she pleases. She’ll go for another man if the mood takes her but she likes women too. The emperor likes to watch her perform with slave girls in the bath, dirty little sod.’
‘I’ve obviously led a very sheltered life.’
‘Well, if you want to make up for it, you’ve certainly come to the right place.’
***
Next day, at the third hour of the morning Josephus presented himself, as ordered, at the imperial palace. He was led to a marble bench outside Nero’s audience chamber where he waited for what seemed like an age, listening to the sounds of someone playing the lyre and a man’s voice singing in a high, thin falsetto. Resigned to spending the rest of the day there, he sat with his elbows on his knees and his chin cupped in his hands, not for the first time questioning the wisdom of undertaking such an errand and daydreaming about life at home in Judea. His thoughts were interrupted by the appearance of a thickset young man, of about the same age as him, with a heavy jaw and a spotty, rather podgy face, topped with greasy brown hair. His toga had seen better days and bore the traces of what Josephus assumed was last night’s dinner.
‘What are you doing here?’ asked the new arrival.
‘Waiting,’ replied Josephus, with a cursory glance up at him.
‘Mind if I join you?’ Josephus shrugged. The man clearly hadn’t been near a bath-house in several days, but Josephus thought it best not to make any comment, and shuffled along the bench to make room. ‘So who’re you waiting for?’
Josephus was on the point of making a sarcastic reply when he thought better of it. Never know, he thought, this clod might be one of his personal slaves, better play along with him. ‘I’m waiting for an audience with his imperial majesty, Nero Germanicus,’ he replied.
‘Keeping you waiting then, is he?’
Josephus stuck his well-bred nose in the air. ‘It’s not for me to complain about his majesty’s time-keeping,’ he said loftily.
‘So what’s he like, then, this Nero?’
Josephus turned and looked at him in disdain. ‘Well how should I know? I’ve never met him. Don’t you work here?’
His malodorous companion pouted. ‘Hmm, I wouldn’t call it work exactly. I just wanted to know what he’s like, what people are saying about him, you know, what’s the word on the Aventine? – that kind of thing.’
The question aroused Josephus’ suspicions still more and he retreated further into his diplomatic shell. ‘Since arriving in the city, without exception, all I’ve heard is that he is wise, merciful and generous.’
‘Nothing about his poetry and singing then?’
‘I hear they are of the highest order – god-like was the expression, I believe.’
The young man gave Josephus a hearty shove that sent him sprawling on the marble floor. ‘You creep, Josephus,’ he laughed, jumping to his feet. ‘What a bum-sucking little toady you are. And there was I looking forward to having you executed for sedition. Bugger!’
Josephus looked up and saw that the man was now surrounded by a group of people, including Poppaea and Alityros, all of whom were bent double with laughter. The young man stretched out a hand to help him up. ‘Allow me to present myself: Nero Claudius Caesar Augustus Germanicus, but you can call me “sir”.’ He released his grasp on Josephus who started brushing himself down and straightening a tunic nearly as crumpled as his dignity. ‘Wasn’t that a wonderful joke, eh, Josephus? Wasn’t it brilliant?’
Over the emperor’s shoulder he caught Alityros’ eye and the actor promptly went into a dumb-show of pantomime hysterics. Josephus didn’t need telling twice and put his hands on his knees, rocking back and forth in what he hoped looked like real mirth. ‘Fabulous, sir, utterly superb: words fail me.’
Chapter Twelve
The traffic in Rome was nose-to-tail and even using the car’s blue flashing lights and two-tone horns, Lombardi had trouble making any headway. To Flora’s surprise, instead of continuing towards the ancient heart of the city he turned right off the Via Appia Nouva towards the central railway station.
‘Hold on a minute, I thought we were going straight to the TPC,’ she said.
‘Sorry, didn’t I mention it? There’s been a slight change of plan,’ he replied. ‘I was told to take you to the British Embassy first.’
Flora went pale and swallowed hard. ‘No, you didn’t mention it. Any reason why?’
Lombardi shook his head.
She noticed his shifty expression and felt a pang of irritation. ‘And did anyone think to tell me, ask me even?’
‘They said not to mention it…’
‘Not even to me?’
<
br /> ‘Don’t tell anyone is what they said.’
‘And who are “they” if you please?’
He took one hand off the wheel and gestured airily. ‘Oh, my bosses at the TPC. Worried about word getting out to the wrong people in Pompeii I suppose.’
‘Or worried I’d have said “no”, more likely,’ said Flora, folding her arms. She knew this corner of Rome well and coming back to the ugly concrete slab of the Embassy building – looking for all the world like the bastard offspring of a fire station and a 1960s New Town shopping centre – caused a host of bad memories to come flooding back.
They stopped at a red traffic light. ‘Anyway, why would you say no?’ he asked.
Flora shook her head but made no reply. Why indeed? she thought.
Just four years ago – another lifetime or so it seemed now. At the outset it had seemed to her like a relatively simple, low-risk operation but things had unravelled frighteningly quickly. First came the web of lies, then the deaths, then the blame-shifting and the botched cover-up. She had a good idea of where the disaster had started and why. She knew the names of the guilty and had met some of them too – many of them subsequently ennobled, knighted, honoured and generally kicked upstairs away from any proof of their involvement. It was in this very building that a younger and more naïve Flora Kemble had been briefed for her part in the drama that was about to unfold.
The tap on the shoulder had come during her final year at Oxford. As a brilliant linguist she made a natural target for the talent spotters and during a discreet lunch at a restaurant just outside the city, was invited to consider applying to join the “Foreign and Commonwealth Co-ordinating Staff”, one of the euphemisms for the Secret Intelligence Service, better known as MI6 to the media and “The Firm” to its employees.
As expected, Flora graduated with a first and passed the FCO entry exam with ease. Then, after coming top of her SIS training course at Fort Monckton came the hammer blow: a posting to Rome, a D-category Station.
The SIS rates its highest risk Stations such as Pyongyang and Kabul as “A”. The lowest, safest, and to Flora’s way of thinking, dullest, were the “D” postings – Commonwealth and EU countries where the threat to British interests was considered lowest. If she expected three years cultivating friendly journalists and fishing for gossip about Italian government corruption, then the reality of why she had been chosen for the job came as a complete shock.
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