A Song For Nero

by Tom Holt

  'You two, search the cell, I'll see to this bastard.'

  I hate being searched, it's undignified. One of the advantages of being small and ratlike, as opposed to tall, willowy and slim or big and muscular, is that soldiers and the like only tend to search me when they're actually looking for something, but even so, it happens to me rather more often than I like. Still, at least on this occasion I was clean as snow and pure as milk, as they say in Attica. Likewise the cell, as the other two proved after a short, pointless display of energy.

  'Fine,' the guard said eventually, 'so that's all right. But I'm warning you,' he added, with a bewildered look on his face. 'Just don't try anything, that's all.'

  The door slammed behind them, and I went back to lying against the wall, like I'd been doing before I'd been disturbed. Now, though, I had a lot more to think about.

  Your brother, he'd said. Your brother Gallistus.

  It's a bugger, being human. Birds and deer and mice and foxes, they don't have to put up with the kind of shit people do, their lives are simple and straightforward. You watch where you're going, sniff three times before breaking cover, spend your days trying to eat without getting eaten. If a predator shows up, at least you know what he's after, and you can run or fly or do what you have to do. And if your sister or your uncle or whatever is a bit slow off the mark one day and ends up as a link in the food chain, well, that's. the luck of the draw At least you know where you crouch, so to speak. Being human is much more difficult, because your enemies don't wear bushy red tails or grey fur overcoats to let you know which side they're on. You've got to figure it out as you go along, try and keep track of who's who, you've got to think all the damn time. Oh, I suppose you could go up into the hills and live in a cave and throw rocks at anybody who comes within a hundred yards, but then you'd have nobody to talk to (and for a Greek, that'd be worse than being dead). I don't know, there's got to be a way of figuring all this stuff out, but I'm buggered if I know what it is.

  Your brother Callistus, he'd said. Crazy Did that mean that Licinius Pollio and all his people had been slashed to death over the venison crêpes just because someone thought Lucius Domitius was my dead brother? And why, for pity's sake; what for? It was hard to imagine anybody, let alone two Roman gang bosses, spending the last ten years muttering, 'So help me, I'm going to get that bastard Callistus,' into their pillows every night for ten years, because he'd never actually done anything to anybody, apart from steal a few tunics and help Lucius Domitius escape. Now a tunic's just a tunic, and it couldn't have been the helping Lucius Domitius that'd got them riled up, because if they knew about that, they had to know Callistus was dead. Assuming he was, of course. Maybe — well, maybe at the last moment, when I wasn't looking, Callistus and Nero Caesar had swapped back, just to make a monkey out of me, and it hadn't been my brother I'd killed after all.

  Well, I wasn't in the mood to write off any possible explanation, but that one did seem just a trifle far-fetched. Other than that, though, I couldn't think of anything. Proving nothing, mind. After all, I hadn't dogged Callistus' footsteps all round the Golden House every hour of every day we were there. It's possible he'd done something to piss off somebody at some time when I wasn't around, and so I never got to hear about it. But Callistus, for God's sake. He wouldn't knowingly have done anybody down, except a mark in the course of business, and of course we'd been retired from all that all the time we were Caesar's guests.

  I could just conceive that at some stage, purely by accident, I'd done something horrible to somebody, enough so he'd bear a grudge. But Callistus? No, not possible.

  Anyhow, there was no way I was going to murder any prison guards, not even if Amyntas was serious about telling everybody who I was — and I couldn't see that, not in a hundred years. For a start, who'd believe him? He couldn't very well offer any proof, not in his line of work, for fear of drawing attention to himself. Furthermore, if I'd made sense of any of what seemed to be going on, the last thing he'd want to do is put the idea into anyone's head that Galen was alive and in town, with the implication that if Galen was here, Callistus couldn't be far behind. No, I said to myself, right now, the only safe place for me is right here, behind a nice stout door in a tight stone cell with armed men outside to protect me. God bless .the watch, I thought, Rome 's finest.

  As I arrived at that conclusion, the door swung open again, and the guard came in. He looked like a man with a bad headache.

  'Guess what,' he said. 'You've got visitors again.'

  I looked at him. 'Really?'

  'No kidding,' he replied wearily 'And fancy who's here to see you. Your sister,' he said, with a flogged-out ghost of a smile, 'and your two cousins from out of town.'

  'What, the ones who were here just now?' He shook his head. 'Different ones.

  'Oh,' I said.

  'Large family, is it?'

  'Huge,' I answered.

  'Right.' He clicked his tongue. 'I'll show them in. That's after we've searched them,' he said nastily 'Thoroughly,' he added, 'so it may be a while.'

  'Take your time,' I told him. 'I'm not planning on going anywhere.'

  He looked at me as if he'd just found me in his salad. 'You can bet the rent on that,' he said, and he stomped out, leaving me to wonder what I'd said to offend him. Well, some people are just sensitive, I guess.

  When he'd said it could take a while, he wasn't kidding. In fact, I'd made up my mind that whoever it was had been put off by the searching and the attitude, and had buggered off. I'd just started a chariot race in my head, as a change from sea battles (Greens leading the Blues by a nose coming into the turn, with the Blue favourite coming up fast on the outside), when the door swung open, and there was my pal the guard once again.

  'I've been thinking,' he said. 'If this bird out here's really your sister, what's her name?'

  I frowned. 'I don't know,' I said. 'It depends which of my sisters you've got out there. Want me to go through the whole list? Could take some time.'

  He sighed. 'Large family Yeah, you said. All right, which sister would be about nineteen or twenty, short, sort of dark skin, hair piled up in one of them beehive jobs? Or are they all identical twins?'

  That sounded familiar, and I thought, Shit. Except, she might be able to answer a question for me, and I was fairly safe in my cell, and, as I'd just proved, I didn't have to leave it if I didn't want to.

  'Sounds like my kid sister Blandinia,' I replied. 'Fancy that, I didn't even know she was in town.'

  'Blandinia,' he repeated. 'You're sure about that.'

  'Sure I'm sure.

  'Fuck. All right.' He turned and called into the passageway 'In here,' he said.

  There was a blur and a whirring noise, and guess who was kneeling down beside me, making an awful fuss — was I all right, what had that horrid man been doing to me, it was all right, they'd sent for Uncle Thrasymedes, he'd have me out of there in two shakes. I looked under her armpit towards the door and nearly shouted for the guard, who was just on his way out. Standing on either side of the door were my two least favourite gladiators, Alexander and Pony-tail.

  'Shout out if you want anything,' the guard grumbled. 'Wine, biscuits, little cheesy things on sticks. We're here to please.'

  He slammed the door, just as I was about to call him back. It's true what they say, never one about when you need one.

  'You,' I said.

  'Oh be quiet,' Blandinia said, turning off the worried sister like a tap in a barrel. 'God, how feckless can you get? Can't even walk out of a house without getting arrested.'

  'You betrayed us,' I snarled. 'I heard you, talking to that bastard; he knew you. It must've been you who told him where we were.

  'Sure,' she replied. 'Big deal.'

  I crawled backwards an inch or so till I was flat up to the wall. 'And now you've come to clean up the loose ends, right?'

  'Yes,' she replied. 'Oh, don't start slobbering, I didn't mean that, we aren't going to hurt you. If I'd wanted you killed, I'd ha
ve told Strymon you were behind the curtain, instead of covering up for you. Even a nitwit like you should be able to figure that one out.'

  Well, she had a point there, I suppose. 'So what are they doing here?' I asked.

  'Or did you fetch them along just to cook something?'

  'Don't be silly They're going to get you out of here.'

  That seemed to be news to Alexander and Pony-tail. 'You what?' Alexander said.

  'Don't you start,' she said over her shoulder, without looking round. 'Now listen to me, this is how we're going to play it. You start screaming, like you're in mortal pain. The guard comes in. The boys thump him—'

  'Just a moment,' Pony-tail objected, but I don't think she was listening.

  '—and we make a run for it. We've got a sedan chair waiting out in the street, so we haven't got far to go.

  'Another one?' I said. She ignored me, too.

  'Right, got that?' she went on. 'Fine. So, on the count of three—'

  'Hold it.' I raised my hands. 'If you want me to leave here, you'll have to drag me. I may not be very smart, but I know when I'm well off. I'm not going.'

  She frowned at me. 'Fine,' she said. 'Alexander, come here a minute. Now, grab his ankle and when I say twist—'

  When you're trying to sound like you're in mortal pain, it always helps to be in mortal pain. I was pretty convincing. In fact, it was probably the best agonised scream of my screaming career. Sure enough, in came the guard; a heartbeat later, down fell the guard on his nose, fast asleep. Alexander lifted me over his shoulder like he was a shepherd and I was a poor little orphan lamb, and we were out in the passage. I couldn't see much from where I was, but I heard a sound like an apple getting run over by a cartwheel, so I guess Pony-tail must've hit someone else. Then we were out in the street, and I remember shooting through the air and finding out what a sack of onions feels like when it gets loaded on a farm cart. Then it got dark, as you'd expect inside a closed chair. I couldn't move, probably because Blandinia was sitting on me.

  Short, fast, bumpy ride, and then the weight eased off my neck and a huge hairy arm grabbed me and fished me out into the light again. I landed on my feet and the arm pulled me upright.

  We were in a courtyard, in what must've been a big, grand house. Alexander was on one side of me, Pony-tail on the other, and Blandinia was marching across the yard towards the cloister. I didn't say anything as they frogmarched me along. I may be a Greek, but I can keep from talking if I make a real effort.

  'Right,' Blandinia said, and they pushed me into a chair, their enormous hands on my shoulders. 'You two, clear off and fix something to eat. I'm starving.'

  So there I was, in some rich bastard's house, sitting on the grass with a beautiful girl while two extremely skilful cooks whipped up dinner. Strange how things turn out; for most of my life, I'd have reckoned that was a good deal.

  Pity, isn't it, that when you eventually get what you wish for, it usually turns out to be a horseshit omelette.

  'Now then,' Blandinia said. 'I expect you'd like to know what's going on.'

  I had one question to ask her. I asked it. 'Where's Lucius Domitius?'

  She raised an eyebrow, then: 'Oh, you mean Nero Caesar,' she said. 'I'm not totally sure. But he's safe. More's the pity,' she added.

  'What's that supposed to mean?'

  'Do be quiet,' she replied, 'or we'll never get anywhere. Do you want me to explain, or don't you?'

  You can't argue with women. It's like trying to put a fire out with oil, the more you argue, the worse it gets. An old bloke I knew once said there's only three ways of dealing with them when they get argumentative: kiss them, bash them or walk away Probably very good advice, if any of the three had been on the cards, which they weren't.

  'Go ahead,' I sighed.

  'Thank you so much. Right,' said Blandinia, 'this is the house of Lucius Regalianus. He's in Crete at the moment, buying and selling things, but his steward is an old friend of mine, from the Golden House. You may even recognise him, though I don't suppose you will. Guests don't notice footmen, and that's what he was back then. All clear so far?'

  I nodded.

  'Splendid,' she said. 'You see? I knew you'd got enough intelligence to follow a simple story. Now, you want to know exactly what all that was about with Licinius Porno.'

  'Yes,' I said.

  'It's like this.' She yawned. 'Just as you guessed, I set it all up, with Strymon, the gangster. As soon as he heard I'd got a lead on Callistus—'

  'Just a moment,' I said. 'You know perfectly well Callistus is dead.'

  'Sure,' she replied, 'but they don't. They think he's alive, that Nero Caesar is in fact your dear departed brother. So does Scyphax and his mob, for that matter.'

  'Why would they think that?'

  'Because that's what I told them,' Blandinia replied. 'When they all found out that Porno's people and I were taking an interest in two men who were thought to be the infamous companions of Nero Caesar — actually, they knew about the intelligence reports my friend the clerk saw, but they hadn't read the reports themselves, so they were pretty much in the dark. Anyhow Strymon came to see me and asked if it was true I was on the trail of Callistus and Galen. I said yes, what of it? And he offered me — well, quite a lot of money, if I kept him up to date. Then Scyphax came and made me the same offer.' She sighed. 'What's a poor ex-slave girl to do? I said yes please, to both of them. Then, when we heard you'd been seen in Sicily, I told Strymon, and he zoomed off after you. But sad to say, he's not the brightest lamp in the temple, if you follow me, he found you all right, on your way to the slate quarries, and he killed the guards to get hold of you—'

  'That was Strymon,' I interrupted. 'The Sicilian bandit.'

  'That's right,' she said. 'Oddly enough, he was born in Sicily, though nowadays he's as Roman as any other Greek who happens to live in the city. Anyhow, he had you right there, but the idiot didn't recognise you, even though he had a good description I'd sent him, plus you'd have thought anybody would've been able to tell Nero Caesar from the face on the coins. But there you go. He thought a couple of other men were you and Callistus, and he turned you two loose. He found out his mistake soon enough thanks to your idiot friend Nero Caesar, managing to get himself recognised by the provincial governor, no less. Honestly When you two screw something up, you don't do things by halves.'

  'He recognised us,' I repeated.

  She nodded. 'Not straight away, of course,' she said. 'He thought he'd seen a face he knew, and then he got to the governor's office, and there on his desk in with the official despatches was an all-points bulletin from Rome telling all provincial officials to be on the watch for two men, believed to be intimate friends of Nero Caesar and wanted for questioning, and one of them the spitting image of Nero himself'

  'Ah,' I said. 'So the governor thought Lucius Domitius was Callistus, too.'

  She nodded. 'Anyway' she went on, 'as soon as he'd made the connection in his mind, he sent his soldiers looking for you, but by that time you'd managed to kid your way onto that ship. Luckily, Strymon's people were a step or two ahead of him. They asked around and figured out which ship you had to be on, then they got a fast yacht and zoomed back to Ostia to be ready for you when you arrived.

  Only,' she continued with a sigh, 'your clown of a chum messed all that up by jumping ship, of course.

  'How thoughtless,' I muttered.

  'Quite. And then Strymon got it wrong again. He'd briefed his men to watch for Nero Caesar — or Callistus, as he thought —because he'd be the easy one to spot.

  So Strymon's men were looking for two strangers off the boat, one of whom would look like the face on the coins. When you strolled off the boat on your ownsome, they didn't look twice at you. Even Porno — he'd got the same news, of course, from me — even Porno was expecting the two of you, and when he bumped into you in the street he really wasn't sure if you were one of the men he was after or not. Still, he gave you some money, so you can't complain.'


  'Can't I? Oh dear.'

  'Anyhow,' Blandinia carried on, 'Strymon realised what'd happened, and he went tearing up and down the country looking for you. He nearly caught up on you at that farm, only he missed you yet again and didn't realise until you helpfully bunked off without waiting to claim your wages. Stupid thing to do.'

  'Seemed like a good idea at the time,' I said.

  'Really? What funny minds you two must have. So there you were, strolling up to Rome . Porno — who had more brains than Strymon, bless him, though he was terribly naive, especially when you think how he made his money — Porno figured out that you must be headed for the city, so he concentrated his efforts on picking you out when you came in through the gates. That's where Alexander and Julianus came in, and they did a good job.'

  'I take it,' I said, 'they've been working for this Strymon all along.'

  She shook her head. 'Don't be silly,' she said. 'They're working for me. Oh, they probably don't know it, but they are. If you're a girl trying to make something of yourself in a man's world, it's ever so helpful to have the two biggest, meanest fighters in the city to look after the primitive side of things. Anyway, where was I? Oh yes. Porno was watching the gates for you; so, by this time, was Scyphax. He's clever, Scyphax, we underestimated him. That's how he managed to get hold of you both, thanks to that stroke of luck, with the wall falling on you. And that,' she said, 'is about it, really As soon as I knew I'd got you at last, I sent word to Strymon to come and pick you up. He had to dispose of Licinius Porno, of course, since Porno knew about you. Also from my point of view,' she added blithely, 'since Porno's the only one apart from you and me — and maybe a few people in the government, but we aren't sure about that — who knew that your friend is actually Nero Caesar and not Callistus the Greek, he had to go. Pity, I quite liked him, in spite of everything.'

  She didn't explain that 'everything', but I didn't ask. Actually, I was a trifle shocked; she'd had that man, her master, murdered just like that, because he was inconvenient. Him and his entire household. Well, you expect that sort of thing from gods, and kings and emperors as well, I guess, but not from pretty little girls young enough to be your daughter. Nice world, isn't it?