acknowledging his presence.
‘Nero has abandoned the Golden House,’ Tigellinus had said at their most recent meeting. ‘He feels safer on the Palatine, surrounded by people he can trust. No one will stand in your way. He has been told an officer will report the latest situation. Phaon, his freedman, and a few of his slaves will not abandon him, but neither will they oppose you.’
The receiving room was as Valerius remembered it, vast and intimidating, with the great marble statue of Laocoön and his sons being tormented by pythons dominating the left of the chamber and bathed in light as he opened the double doors. Only the right side of the room, around the golden throne set atop a dozen stairs, was properly lit, as if the throne’s owner wished to remain blinded to the reality that lay beyond the reach of the lamps. The throne was empty.
Valerius stepped inside, closing the door behind him, and stood in the darkness, listening. At first there was nothing apart from the soft swish of a fan attempting to stir life into the thick, heat-heavy air. Then he heard it, a low muttering from the far side of the room, beyond the open windows that led to the balcony. He focused on the sound and walked towards it, placing each step to minimize the noise of his nailed sandals on the marble floor. Gradually the words became clearer.
‘I am lonely, Mother.’ The voice of a young man, soft and pleading. ‘Why did you desert me? All I ever wanted was to please you.’
‘Please me?’ Another voice, this time high-pitched, a woman’s. ‘Why, you murdered me, ungrateful child, stabbed me on the shore; hard stones in my back and my blood mingling with the salty sea.’
Valerius shivered as he listened.
‘Not me, Mother. Some fool who overstepped his orders. You deserved so much better than that tawdry end.’
‘And Seneca, who was your friend, was that also a mistake?’
‘I miss Seneca.’
‘And Britannicus?’
‘Did I ever make you proud, Mother?’
‘What mother would not have been proud of a son like you? Each time you sang, you sang for me. Every triumph, you dedicated to me.’
‘Mother?’
‘Yes, Caesar?’
‘What must I do?’
The shrill voice was replaced by an urgent hiss. ‘Run, Lucius. You must run and never stop.’
‘There is nowhere to run.’ Valerius’s voice had all the finality of a marble tomb closing. He stepped from the shadows and the stocky figure on the balcony froze, silhouetted against the dying light, his eyes bulging, pale with fright. All the blazing glory and deadly threat that had made him the object of awe and fear was gone now. Where there had been an Emperor, now there was only a man.
‘You?’
‘Yes, Caesar.’
‘You should be dead.’
‘I come with a message from Gnaeus Domitius Corbulo.’ Even in the gloom Valerius saw that pallid flesh grow paler. ‘He bears you no ill will, despite the calumnies you heaped upon him. He seeks no revenge, though I, for one, would not hesitate to avenge him. All he asks is that you act with the nobility of your line. It is finished. Today the Senate decreed that you should be scourged to death. You have seen men scourged; backs bared to the bone and flesh in tatters. Could you stand the kiss of leather and iron? And even if you escaped that, what fate awaits a man forsaken by his people? Fight and you will lose. They will tear you apart for the horror you brought upon them. Run, and they will find you, wherever you flee.’
‘Alexandria …’
‘Vespasian will send you back.’ Valerius kept his voice hard and unflinching; the voice of a judge passing sentence. ‘Africa? The governor is loyal, but how long can he protect you? The rest have already deserted you. You are an Emperor without an Empire. There is only one way.’ Valerius reached beneath his cloak and drew his sword from its scabbard. It was the cavalry sword Corbulo had given him so long ago. He remembered the long, eagle’s face, the comforting certainty;
‘Nero has abandoned the Golden House,’ Tigellinus had said at their most recent meeting. ‘He feels safer on the Palatine, surrounded by people he can trust. No one will stand in your way. He has been told an officer will report the latest situation. Phaon, his freedman, and a few of his slaves will not abandon him, but neither will they oppose you.’
The receiving room was as Valerius remembered it, vast and intimidating, with the great marble statue of Laocoön and his sons being tormented by pythons dominating the left of the chamber and bathed in light as he opened the double doors. Only the right side of the room, around the golden throne set atop a dozen stairs, was properly lit, as if the throne’s owner wished to remain blinded to the reality that lay beyond the reach of the lamps. The throne was empty.
Valerius stepped inside, closing the door behind him, and stood in the darkness, listening. At first there was nothing apart from the soft swish of a fan attempting to stir life into the thick, heat-heavy air. Then he heard it, a low muttering from the far side of the room, beyond the open windows that led to the balcony. He focused on the sound and walked towards it, placing each step to minimize the noise of his nailed sandals on the marble floor. Gradually the words became clearer.
‘I am lonely, Mother.’ The voice of a young man, soft and pleading. ‘Why did you desert me? All I ever wanted was to please you.’
‘Please me?’ Another voice, this time high-pitched, a woman’s. ‘Why, you murdered me, ungrateful child, stabbed me on the shore; hard stones in my back and my blood mingling with the salty sea.’
Valerius shivered as he listened.
‘Not me, Mother. Some fool who overstepped his orders. You deserved so much better than that tawdry end.’
‘And Seneca, who was your friend, was that also a mistake?’
‘I miss Seneca.’
‘And Britannicus?’
‘Did I ever make you proud, Mother?’
‘What mother would not have been proud of a son like you? Each time you sang, you sang for me. Every triumph, you dedicated to me.’
‘Mother?’
‘Yes, Caesar?’
‘What must I do?’
The shrill voice was replaced by an urgent hiss. ‘Run, Lucius. You must run and never stop.’
‘There is nowhere to run.’ Valerius’s voice had all the finality of a marble tomb closing. He stepped from the shadows and the stocky figure on the balcony froze, silhouetted against the dying light, his eyes bulging, pale with fright. All the blazing glory and deadly threat that had made him the object of awe and fear was gone now. Where there had been an Emperor, now there was only a man.
‘You?’
‘Yes, Caesar.’
‘You should be dead.’
‘I come with a message from Gnaeus Domitius Corbulo.’ Even in the gloom Valerius saw that pallid flesh grow paler. ‘He bears you no ill will, despite the calumnies you heaped upon him. He seeks no revenge, though I, for one, would not hesitate to avenge him. All he asks is that you act with the nobility of your line. It is finished. Today the Senate decreed that you should be scourged to death. You have seen men scourged; backs bared to the bone and flesh in tatters. Could you stand the kiss of leather and iron? And even if you escaped that, what fate awaits a man forsaken by his people? Fight and you will lose. They will tear you apart for the horror you brought upon them. Run, and they will find you, wherever you flee.’
‘Alexandria …’
‘Vespasian will send you back.’ Valerius kept his voice hard and unflinching; the voice of a judge passing sentence. ‘Africa? The governor is loyal, but how long can he protect you? The rest have already deserted you. You are an Emperor without an Empire. There is only one way.’ Valerius reached beneath his cloak and drew his sword from its scabbard. It was the cavalry sword Corbulo had given him so long ago. He remembered the long, eagle’s face, the comforting certainty;
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