The Nero Prediction (32 page)

"Perhaps not. But he did exile him for writing a slanderous squib like the one you've just heard."

"There's a point beyond which freedom becomes a threat to the dignity of the imperial power."

Quintianus raised his eyebrows which wrinkled his shiny pate. "Ah, but not the dignity of a member of the Senate? Oh, don't bother to scratch for an answer. I didn't bring you here to spar. You know as well as I do that Nero does as he wishes and that he's beyond the reach of legal remedies. However, not even he is above the reach of the gods who, as the old saying goes, fatten those they are about to sacrifice. And how the gods, through the mouths of little men, have fattened Nero! They've fattened him with preposterous vanity, with the delusion that he's a giant among poets and musicians, with the erroneous belief that he can ridicule his peers with safety. Fat and sleek he bleats for the justice of the sacrificial knife. Only one man can save him, ironically the ex-slave most responsible for stuffing him with absurd pretensions.” The little smile on the senator's lips indicated how much he relished his next word: "You. Yes you whose slavish mind conceived the strategy of introducing the emperor to a crooked diviner so you could manipulate him through ready-made omens."

I did my best to sound indignant. "That's not true!"

Quintianus clapped his plump hands twice. "It isn't?"

The senator's two lovers emerged from the trees. Between them was black Furvus, Thallus's legs, who sank to his knees and kept his eyes on the grass.

Quintianus raised his eyebrows at me as if he was inviting me to participate in an amusing little joke. "What are you?" he asked Furvus.

The man raised his eyes, large and very white. "The bearer of the diviner Thallus."

"Do you serve him in any other capacity?"

"Yes dominus, I purchase goats for him."

"For what purpose?"

"So that he can read their entrails. For divination dominus."

"I see. Is there anything special you are required to do to prepare the goats for divination?"

"Yes. Sometimes my master asks me to puncture their livers."

"How do you do that?"

"While the goat is still alive I pierce the liver according to my master's directions with a needle. It produces blemishes."

"I see. Were any livers treated in this way read in the presence of the emperor?"

"Yes dominus."

"How many?"

"Two lord."

"Do you see anyone here who was also present on these occasions?"

Furvus raised his eyes but they didn't quite meet mine.

"Yes, this man."

"When did you first meet him?"

"When he came to consult my master."

"He's the one who introduced your master to the emperor?"

"Yes."

"I see. You may go now, with your gold. Remember that you will be safe only as long as you remain silent about this matter. Soon I'll send for you again. Understand?"

Furvus did.

While he was being lead away I had to endure Afranius's smile. "Well, Epaphroditus?"

I felt as if I'd just been buried alive. "What do you want?"

Quintianus dabbed at the sweat on his shiny pate with a scarlet handkerchief. "Oh nothing much. I just want you to allow Fate to run its course."

I told Nero nothing. Instead, when we returned to Rome at the beginning of April, I bought spies in the households of the most important men who'd been at Seneca's reception in Baiae including the sottish senator Flavius Scaevinus and the obese invert Afranius Quintianus.

The middle of April and the Games of Ceres approached, the ill-omened day when Balbillus predicted that Nero's friends would turn against him. But only gossip filtered back from my spies.

As you would expect Natalis, Scaevinus's nervy drinking companion, ate dinner with him almost every evening. More interesting was the information that Scaevinus had traveled north to Farentum where he'd spent the night in the Shrine of Fortune but that wasn't evidence of treason. The bald senator was abstaining from boys past their prime. Neither was that.

Finally, on the day before the Games of Ceres, a glimmer of light: a petition from the handsome, arrogant consul-elect Plautius Lateranus for an audience with Nero on the fateful morning. Blue-eyed Lateranus, the man from whose brawny arm Epicharis had disengaged herself at Seneca's reception in Baiae, the reception where I had been snubbed by everyone and captivated by her.

Ever since Nero had allowed Lateranus to return from exile, where Claudius had banished him for bedding Messalina, rumors had circulated that the once wealthy aristocrat was having trouble coming up with the million in assessed property necessary to keep him on the senatorial roll. It had been a sentimental gesture of Claudius's to make donations out of the imperial treasury to keep great old republican names in the Senate. For some time now Rome had waited for the day when a high-and-mighty Lateranus would be forced to beg for charity. It couldn't be chance that it came at an ominous time for Nero.

I went to Lateranus at noon in the Forum where he was pleading a case. "I received your petition," I said. "As you know the emperor is tied up with preparations for tomorrow's Games. However, if it's something important, I'll ask him to make an exception."

Again, just as in Baiae, there was a sharp barb of mockery in his bright blue eyes as the consul-elect shot me a grin spiced with contempt. "If I wish to discuss it, I'll do it with your master."

The evil was everywhere: in the persistent croaking of a raven at sunset, in the doleful tintinnabulation of the wind chimes outside my bedroom window. Self disgust choked me. I was no better at conquering superstition than anyone else.

I fought off fear with the walking exercise, one pace per second, sixty paces per minute, waiting for the gut of the night to vomit up one of my spies. If I didn't have clear evidence of the conspiracy by dawn, I'd made up my mind, I'd tell Nero that I'd given his birth time to Epicharis and offer him my life. This time he'd probably take it.

Would take it even if I did have evidence of a conspiracy by dawn because I'd forgotten about the mauve, blubbery lips of Afranius Quintianus! The realization struck me like a slap in the face. The moment I brought an accusation against a conspirator, the rotund senator would bring an accusation against me. What madness had made me forget that? He'd already bought black Furvus and it wouldn't take much more to buy his master, crippled Thallus.

I sent for a man who'd worked for me before. He was tongueless for cursing his master, free because his victories in the arena had earned him the wooden sword of retirement.

I went to my records office for the letter from Afranius Quintianus, the one that he'd written to protest Nero's scurrilous epigram that poked fun at his sexual preferences. I practiced the smooth, almost feminine flow of his writing. Shortly after midnight the ex-gladiator and I slipped into the streets of Rome where the smell of fresh concrete was beginning to drown the usual aroma of urine and fish sauce. This time I was sure I wasn’t being followed.

When the Moon rose three hours before dawn, angry horns on her head, we were outside Thallus's door. To my surprise it wasn't locked. The diviner was bent over a liver. Next to him squatted Furvus who rose to his feet as we entered, the powerful muscles on his neck working as he took my man’s measure. The tongueless killer did not break his stride. Furvus struck but his fist found only air. The gladiator’s dagger found his throat. The huge black man fell, no longer of this earth.

The old man didn't seem to notice. He looked up at me with blue eyes that were as fearless as an infant's. "I knew you'd come at moonrise."

"Then you know why I’ve come."

Thallus shook his head. "But you can't do it. I've said it before, to Nero, and it's confirmed right here by this liver. My death lies in the future."

"Smother him," I said to the gladiator. "Use the liver."

Half an hour later I was in bed. An eerie calm took possession of  me. The gentle tinkling of the wind chimes was the sound of sleep approaching on tiptoe. Quickly she folded me in her arms. 

My barber woke me at gray-dawn. My hairdresser washed and combed my hair. My valet dressed me in my best robe. I checked myself in a full-length mirror and had to admit I looked splendid. I also checked for the little package of powder in my pocket that smelt of fish: deadly extract of sea-hare. They weren't going to torture me either.

There was a knock at my door. A page entered. "There's a man outside. He says it's very important and can't wait."

"What's his name?"

"Malicious. Something like that."

"Milichus?"

"Yes, that's it."

He was the drunken senator Flavius Scaevinus's butler and my spy. A huge breath of relief forced its way between my teeth and into my lungs. "Bring him."

Milichus's suspicious eyes stayed glued to the boy until he closed the door behind him.

I think I looked appropriately stern. "What is it?"

"On Monday he went up north, to the Shrine of Fortune in Farentum."

"You've already told me that."

"He went to see Natalis again yesterday and when he got back he signed his will."

Fear crept back on cat's feet. "Is that all?"

The butler’s face had set into the hard, gritty expression of peasant cunning, forehead furrowed as a field. "Then he gave instructions for a banquet, no expense to be spared."

"And?"

"He freed some slaves and gave others money."

Once again this paltry revelation was followed by a squint, as if the butler was shrewdly calculating whether he had already given me enough to merit his reward.

I growled with irritation. This idiot was selling me a bag of turnips, one at a time, while I was steeling myself for the most dreadful moment of my life. "Get to the point, damn you."

Milichus hesitated for an infuriating second. I could tell that this was his last turnip. He reached into his robe and brought out a dagger. "He ordered bandages and told me to sharpen this."

Nero examined the dagger, a curious antique with an ornate handle. Its blade was mottled with corrosion. "Is this his?"

"It's from the Shrine of Fortune, dominus. That's why he went there, to fetch it. He plans to use it to murder you."

Nero blinked at the word but his tone remained affable. "Are you sure? Perhaps all he wanted to do was cut cheese with it."

Milichus spoke up. His forehead was slick with sweat. "He and the others, Caesar, they've been plotting your death for months. Question my master Scaevinus. He won't dare lie to you."

"What do you think, Epaphroditus?"

"Dominus, when these rumors of treachery began to circulate I took the precaution of asking men in certain households to keep their ears open. He's one of them."

Nero sighed. "In that case I suppose you'd better bring me Scaevinus."

The senator looked relaxed, almost amused, in spite of the haste with which he'd been bundled into the imperial presence. He even seemed to be sober.

He laughed when he was shown the dagger. "That old relic! It's supposed to bring me good luck, that's what they said at the Temple of Fortune. Obviously hasn't."

Nero frowned as he scratched his chin. "I see. What about your new will and the way you dished out freedom to your slaves? What was all that about?"

"Unfortunately I've got myself into such a bad financial scrape that I'm told that the provisions of my will won't be honored. That's why I freed my most deserving slaves right away, to stop them from being seized by my creditors."

"But why did you free them in such a hurry? Not feeling well?"

"Quite well, thank you Augustus, but accidents do happen."

"Which is why you ordered the bandages."

Scaevinus threw up his hands with the absurdity of it all. "Bandages? Why on earth would I need bandages? To bind up the wounds of the man I've just attacked with the dagger?"

A bead of sweat ran down the side of Milichus's cheek which was as wrinkled as a prune. With him was his plump wife who'd followed the Praetorians when they'd brought Scaevinus to Nero. She was whispering something into her husband's ear.

Nero looked at the freedman, one eyebrow raised. "What do you say to that?"

"Caesar, yesterday, shortly before he got me to sharpen the dagger, he had a secret conversation with the knight Antonius Natalis. As Caesar knows they're both friends of Piso, the one who's behind this whole thing. For your own safety, Augustus, and the happiness of us common people, question Natalis."

Nero stared at Scaevinus for a long, uncomfortable moment. "You heard what he said. You plotted with Natalis."

There was no trace of fear in the senator's laugh. "What nonsense! Natalis is a friend of mine, actually more of a parasite than anything else. Like everyone we swap the latest tidbits of gossip in the baths, your wonderful new baths. We did so yesterday."

Nero looked as if he was beginning to see the joke. "Oh I'm so pleased you like my baths. Out of interest, what is the latest gossip? I mean the tidbits you exchanged with Natalis?"

The senator tried to walk around the trap. "Caesar, quite honestly I don't remember, it was such piffle."

Nero's smile was as sunny as a slice of ripe melon. "What a pity, I'm starved for good gossip. Well, perhaps Natalis remembers."

Natalis kept dabbing a pink silk handkerchief to his nose. Tigellinus had instructed his Praetorians not to tell him why he was being summoned so that uncertainty would sharpen his anxiety. It had. We were alone, the four of us, Nero asking the questions, me taking the transcription and Tigellinus grinning darkly at the sniveling little runt.

Nero was perfectly genial. "Our apologies for having dragged you out of bed, you don't look too well."

Natalis sniffed more loudly, partially concealing a sickly smile with the handkerchief. "No Augustus, I've caught a rotten cold."

"You must have stayed too long in the cold plunge yesterday."

"Caesar?"

"At the baths."

Natalis's face went a deeper shade of yellow. "Oh no, wasn't fool enough to get wet."

"Just went for a chat, then."