Domitia left the knife and ran back through her dead father's study and into the great atrium. The red-eyed slaves parted like the winter flowers she had harvested as Domitia flew towards the stairs. Her mother waited at the top, smiling with love. Domitia held the little yellow bunch before her as she ascended, panting and out of breath. 'Look, they're so lovely, Mother.'
Aemilia leaned forward, almost touching the flowers with her fingertips. 'Thank you,' she whispered, inhaling the rich scent. Then the light of love went out in her eyes.
'Mother?'
Aemilia fell, crashing hard on the stairs. Her body tumbled past as Domitia screamed, still clutching the flowers in her fist. The revered matron of the Aemilii came to rest in the arms of her household slaves, who caught her before she struck the atrium floor. The sweet perfume of the narcissi was the last thing Aemilia had known before the poisoned Falernian wine had spared her from the Tarpeian Rock.
Aemilius opened the great bronze door to the waiting Praetorians. 'My mother's life is not the Emperor's to take,' he told them with dignity. 'She wishes the Emperor to know that she has claimed that great privilege herself.'
The Praetorian Tribune nodded, neither surprised nor outraged. 'Any last words?'
Aemilius didn't hesitate, handing the Praetorian Domitia's little bunch of flowers. 'She praised her winter bulbs,' the boy said. 'And she asked that you place these in a vase of water for the Emperor's pleasure.'
Returning from the broken mangon 's house, I was late in performing my nightly services for Livia. Unwrapping the silk from the phallus, I placed the fertility tool under the bedclothes while I moved away to tidy my domina 's feeding implements. I kept her nourished via hollow reeds, which I filled with soup and slid down her throat. I was rinsing these in a pail of water when I had the sensation of being watched.
'Little Boots, get back to your bed at once,' I called out.
There was no reply. I turned around to see where he was but there was nothing, only my domina in her endless slumber.
'Go — now,' I hissed into the shadows of the oil-lit room.
There was no answering sound. The boy wasn't there. I turned back to where I'd been dipping the reeds in the pail and felt the eyes again.
The faintest voice whispered in the lamplight. ' So long asleep..'
I spun around. There was still no one but my domina, the phallus a lump under the linen.
'Who's there?' I cried out. I began to fear it was a vengeful spirit from the dead. 'Who are you? Is it Tiberius Nero? Marcellus?'
The shades did not reply.
Uneasy, I returned to my task. But as I took the reed from the pail and let the water drip free, another chill gripped me. I knew there was no one else in the room, and yet the certainty that I was not alone was terrible. I forced myself to remain where I was and not turn around a third time, so that the ghost couldn't enter my soul through my eyes. I kept my fearful gaze fixed upon the pail of water.
'What do you want?' I murmured. 'Please, tell me how I can make amends for what I've done to you.'
There was not another sound in the room — not a sound in all of Oxheads, it seemed to me. It took a great toll on my courage, but I compelled myself to turn around once more and face the spectre. But the room was unchanged. My domina was still lost in sleep on her bed.
As I stepped forward to reassure myself that my mind was playing tricks, my foot connected with an object and sent it spinning across the tiles. It was the phallus I had hidden under the bedclothes. How had it fallen from the bed without me hearing it?
I stooped to retrieve the wooden implement from the floor, and as I raised myself I glanced at my domina 's eyes.
They were wide open.
Matronalia
March, AD 21
Four months later: the Numidian rebel leader Tacfarinas sends diplomats threatening perpetual war upon Rome if he is not paid off with land
There are only two days in the calendar when Roman slaves are not required to work. The better-known is Saturnalia, which falls in the middle of winter, when household roles are reversed and nervous slaves are 'waited upon' by their masters for an evening meal. It's a sham, of course. If any slave dared cook and serve the sort of slops our masters hurl at us on that day, we'd meet agonising deaths with the carnifex. Yet we all giggle and joke, pretending we're living like princes while our 'servants' get steadily drunk before giving up the game and retiring to bed. We 'masters' are then expected to clean up the mess. No pity is given to any slave who may have taken the frivolity a step too far, putting on airs and forgetting his place. Many an idiot has woken up the following day to a savage whipping from his dominus as the natural order of the household is returned.
The other day off for slaves is Matronalia, Juno's festival of motherhood, when women wear their hair long and loose and are forbidden to tie belts around their gowns. On this day mothers receive presents from their husbands and daughters, and each household mistress prepares a 'special' evening meal for her slaves. Like Saturnalia, it's a sham too, but when your life is one of servitude and drudgery interspersed with occasional cruelty, any day that takes you out of the humdrum is still to be cherished. But in the year the rebel Tacfarinas sent his stinking envoys to Rome, I lived in growing terror as Matronalia approached.
At Oxheads, the household's official mistress was still my domina, asleep or not, and I was expected to ensure that she was fit to be seen when the day came. It didn't matter that she couldn't cook a meal — she was only expected to say that she had. In the first two years of Livia's sleep-filled state, Matronalia had not been a trial for me. Without knowing the reasons behind her sleep, Tiberius understood that his mother was unfit to be displayed before the assembled palace slaves; he let it be known, truthfully, that she was too unwell for the job. Antonia had performed the duties instead, that redoubtable mother of Livilla, Claudius and the dead Germanicus. But this year Oxheads' mistress was 'awake'.
Kneeling at the centre of his band of supporters, Castor stared into his grandmother's open eyes. 'But she is awake, Iphicles — look at her.'
Jostled and elbowed by the dozen or so men who had crowded with Castor into Livia's suite, I tried to hide my desperation as I explained. 'Her eyes are open, yes, domine, but that's all. There's nothing behind them. Her mind is still asleep. She cannot appear at Matronalia.'
Castor waved a hand in front of Livia's staring eyes. She blinked. 'My grandmother can see me,' he said.
I knew it was true, but still I tried to cover. 'The physician says that while her eyes seem to be working, her mind is not. She can't speak and she can't move.' I pinched the flesh on Livia's arm. 'She can't feel, domine — you see, she has no feeling.'
I noticed Little Boots worming his way in among the crowd of men.
Castor slapped my hand from his grandmother's arm. 'The physician is wrong — she can feel it.' Indeed, my domina 's eyes were watering. 'She can't communicate it.' Castor glared at me. 'And if I ever see you pinching her like that again, I'll have you flogged, Iphicles, is that clear?'
I saw Little Boots stifle a laugh at my discomfort. 'Yes, domine,' I cringed.
'Help me sit her up,' Castor ordered.
I bent forward to help him lift her in the bed, but his supporters shoved me aside and several of them gave their assistance to Castor in my place, arranging my domina against her pillows so that she sat upright and surveyed the whole room.
'Look,' said Castor in amazement. Livia's eyes began to focus on what was now in front of her — the bed linen, the drapery, the faces of Castor's friends gaping back at her. 'She can see everything now! She's the Augusta again.' He kissed her cheek. 'I've missed you so much, Grandmother,' he whispered. 'Will yourself to speak to me again — I know you can do it. Rome needs you.'
Livia's head lolled a little as he embraced her. Her stare fell upon Little Boots and I saw him go pale.
Castor noticed the boy. 'Nephew,' he said, beckoning Little Boots forward, 'your great-grandmother wants
your kiss.'
I saw the repulsion flooding Little Boots's face and I felt a terror at what he might do or say that could risk exposing us both.
'Kiss her,' said Castor. 'Help her gain the strength to recover.'
Little Boots looked at me, frightened. The smile I attempted was a grimace. 'Your great-grandmother loves you,' I croaked.
Little Boots gingerly stood on his toes, leaning across my domina 's bed. Her eyes shifted in their sockets, remaining fixed upon him like the eyes of a statue. He brushed his lips against her cheek and then withdrew behind the bedhead where her staring eyes couldn't reach him.
'Iphicles,' said Castor.
I kept my gaze to the ground, fearing that if I lifted my head Livia would look at me with terrible accusation; perhaps the power of her inner fury would even fill her with voice. In the months since her eyes had reopened, I had done everything I could to keep them closed, short of poking them out with a pin. I had plunged the room into near-darkness, closing the window shutters and putting out the oil lamps. I had kept my gaze averted from her face at all times as I fed and bathed her, placing shrouds and shawls and sometimes even cushions across her eyes just to block out her stare.
But no matter what I did, I knew she could see. I knew she was conscious and I knew what she was thinking. She planned her vengeance on me. I doubled the amount of ointment I smeared upon the phallus, and then tripled it, until there was enough in her nightly doses to stun a horse into paralysis. But my domina had built up such a resistance to it that nothing I gave her would send her back to Somnus again. It was fast becoming clear that unless she somehow returned to sleep, my only option would be to kill her, my domina, whom I loved more than my own life. I would have to kill her in order to fulfil the very prophecies to which her own life had been dedicated. I would have to kill her to allow Little Boots to become the second king. If I did not, she would awaken fully and kill me, and then kill Sejanus for what he'd done to her chosen second king, Germanicus.
When it came to the prophecies, Livia placed her wishes above the divine words themselves. This had brought her disaster but she had failed to learn. I had studied the lessons instead.
'Iphicles, look at me,' said Castor with a tone that permitted no argument.
I lifted my head and Livia's vengeance-filled eyes were indeed upon me.
'We owe you a great debt for the service you have given in caring for the Augusta,' said Castor.
I opened my mouth, trying to speak.
'A great debt,' Castor repeated. 'But I fear we exploited your love for my grandmother, leaving you to care for her wholly on your own.'
I was being relieved of my duty. Castor was reading me my death sentence.
'But Iphicles wanted to look after great-grandmother all by himself,' Little Boots piped up from behind the bedhead. 'He sent the other slaves away.' He thought he was helping me with this damning defence.
'And we should never have allowed that to happen. Iphicles is too old.'
I swallowed. My mouth felt like it was full of sand. 'I don't feel old, domine,' I rasped.
Castor dismissed this and I saw a spark of malicious glee within my domina 's stare. She relished my pain — it would lead to her freedom. I threw myself onto the floor at the end of the bed. 'Please, domine,' I wailed. 'Don't take me away from her. I've given my whole life to serving my domina — I promised I'd never leave her.'
Castor's friends and supporters were disgusted by my display.
'You're old and tired,' Castor told me. 'I think you've earned a good rest.'
' Domine, please — please!' I writhed upon the tiles.
There was a long, condemning pause while I choked and sobbed. When at last I stopped, I raised my head to see that several of Castor's friends had already left the room, unable to bear me. My domina 's eyes were closed now, but she was listening, I knew. She believed she was free at last.
'You can stay then,' Castor said.
Livia's eyes sprang open.
'But I will provide you with help.'
I held my breath.
'A slave from my household will join you and take over most of your tasks. You can supervise.'
I darted a look at Little Boots. He was as shocked by the reprieve as I was.
My domina 's eyes began to narrow, calculating what this would mean for me and for her.
'Who will this slave be?' I whispered, hoping my tone conveyed the correct gratitude to Castor.
'I have a eunuch in my household. He lives to serve. I will send him here.'
My fear of being banished from ever seeing the prophecies fulfilled was gone. My courage returned and I met my domina 's eye with a level stare. But her look had a dark excitement to it now. She knew better than anyone what I was capable of, but she also knew what Castor had done. He had never intended to remove me from caring for her. Why would he? He understood that no one loved her more than I did. He knew that my obsession for her was so all-consuming that I had even sacrificed my manhood just to honour her. But all the same, he didn't trust me. Castor knew I had secrets, but he was unsure of what they were. This eunuch was to be his spy in uncovering them.
If my domina had found her voice at that moment, she would have laughed and laughed at my predicament.
'I would have thought he'd be more upset about it,' said Livilla to her husband as they ate their breakfast of wine-soaked bread.
'It's a change of scene for him — new tasks, new responsibilities,' said Castor. 'It's good to vary a slave's experiences every now and then. Keeps them interested in life, stops them becoming depressed.'
'You're too slack with them,' said Livilla.
'And you're too harsh. It's why they don't love you.'
Livilla was hurt to hear this said but tried to pretend she wasn't. 'It's better to be feared.'
'No, it isn't,' said Castor. He sat up in the dining couch, breakfast done.
Livilla's pup, Scylax, came to lick the dripping wine from her fingers. 'The eunuch is already depressed — or just plain sullen and disobedient. He used to be such a sweet-tempered boy. I don't know what's come over him lately.'
Castor had a theory but didn't bother inflaming his wife by sharing it. 'He will join our grandmother's house this morning. I have told him to pack anything he feels he might need.'
Livilla scoffed. 'The slave's got possessions now?'
'Things that might be useful in his work. Honestly, Livilla, try to think of a kind departing word you can say to Lygdus — you owe him that at least.'
Livilla glared as Castor walked out of the dining room. 'What's that supposed to mean?' she called after him. But he had gone. Livilla kissed the slender head of her beloved Laconian. 'I won't miss that fat lump,' she told the pup. 'Good riddance to him. I hope my grandmother gives him hell.'
Leaving the house to spend the morning at the magistrates' courts, Nero found Lygdus waiting in the entrance hall. The eunuch had chosen to take nothing with him, despite Castor telling him he should.
'You're leaving us, I hear?' said Nero.
Lygdus was surprised it warranted any comment. He met the young dominus 's eyes for a moment, before Nero was the first to look away. Lygdus automatically bobbed to the floor and ran a damp piece of sponge across Nero's street shoes, wiping the dust from them. 'Yes, domine,' he mumbled. 'I am being sent to the household of the Augusta.' Nero said nothing else on the matter.
When Lygdus was done, he stood, keeping his eyes downcast and waiting for Nero to walk out to join his retinue. But Nero stayed where he was. When Lygdus dared to meet the young master's eyes again, he was confused by the lack of shame or anger there. Instead there was a look to Nero's face that the eunuch barely knew. Was it affection?
'Thank you,' Nero said, 'for all that… Well, just thank you.'
Lygdus gaped. Then he felt an object placed in his hand. It was a gold aureus coin. He looked at Nero in astonishment but the young man was already joining his retinue in the street outside. When the front door closed, Lygdus
stayed staring at the coin for a long time. He had never known what it was to hold such a thing. He turned the weight of it over in his palm, wrapping his fingers around it and uncurling them again to stare at the golden image of the Emperor's profile.
When the time came to make the very short journey to the Augusta's house, Lygdus left the aureus sitting in the bottom of the footbath water. Let the next foot-washing slave find it, Lygdus thought. The House of Castor had mutilated him, and now, just as they decided they should be rid of his embarrassment, they deigned to grace him with compensation. No. Lygdus had his dignity intact, if nothing else. His butchered manhood would not be paid for in gold.
But as he stepped into the daylight, Lygdus felt a pang of regret. The Augusta's household could well be worse than the home he was leaving. He would endure it, of course, no matter how bad it was. That was his lot as a slave. But how sad it would be to look back on his life and know he had rejected the one act of kindness that had not been a mask for cruelty. The young master had rewarded him out of gratitude. It wasn't hush money. Lygdus had been given the coin because he had already held his tongue and would have done so even if he had not been rewarded. Nero recognised nobility in Lygdus, yet Lygdus was only a slave.
Lygdus ducked inside again and retrieved the coin from the footbath.
As he reappeared in the daylight with the wet aureus tucked inside his loincloth, the faintest echo of a whisper touched his ear.
' The one near sea falls by a lie that comes from the gelding's tongue…'
Startled, Lygdus turned to see who had spoken to him.
There was no one there.
The Kalends of April
AD 21
One month later: Julius Sacrovir of the Aedui sows the seeds of rebellion in Gaul
With Livia's 'recovery' the order was given that she should be paraded around Rome like a goddess, as a part of Castor's public retinue. Whenever her grandson traversed the Forum, fronted the courts, witnessed the floggings or attended the Senate, the Augusta was to accompany him, sitting upright in a canopied throne held by eight litter-bearers. This would provide an indelible image for Rome, the city for which spectacle and display was all.
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