The Furies of Rome Read Free Page A

possible to attain.
    Nero stood, side-on, left hand on his heart and right hand extended to his guests; tears trickled down the pale skin of his cheeks to catch in the wispy, golden beard that grew thickest under his chin, which, despite his youth, had begun to sag with the weight of good living. Thus, he let the adulation wash over him. ‘My friends,’ he said eventually, his voice imbued with rich emotion, ‘I understand your joy. To be finally able to share with me my talent as expressed through my voice, the most beautiful thing I know.’
    Acte, now in Claudia Octavia’s place, looked less than impressed by this assertion.
    ‘As beautiful as my new wife, Princeps?’ Otho asked with a note of drunken laughter on his voice; his closeness to Nero for so long meant he was the only man in Rome with licence to exchange banter with the Emperor.
    Nero, far from being aggravated at his announcement being interrupted, turned and smiled at his friend and sometime lover. ‘You’ve boasted all evening of Poppaea Sabina’s charms, Otho; when you bring her to Rome I shall sing to her and then you can judge the relative beauty of your new wife and my voice.’
    Otho raised his cup to Nero. ‘That I shall, Princeps, and I shall ravage the winner; she will be here in four days.’
    This produced raucous and ribald cheers from the young bucks who considered themselves part of the Emperor’s close associates; they were soon stilled by a withering look from Nero that, once silence had returned, transformed into an expression of abject humility. ‘Soon, my friends, I shall be ready for you; until then I shall practise more. Adieu.’ With mannered gestures to Acte, Otho, Terpnus and his young sycophants to follow him, Nero turned and left the room, bringing the dinner to an end and taking with him, much to the relief of all those remaining, the fear.
    ‘I’ll be fine, dear boy,’ Gaius insisted as he and Sabinus came to the Forum Romanum, its flagstones wet from a light drizzle, glowing in the light of the many torches of their bodyguards and those of other groups passing through on their way home. ‘It’s only half a mile up the hill and, besides, I’ve got Tigran’s lads looking after me.’
    Sabinus looked dubious. ‘Go quickly anyway.’ He slapped the shoulder of the largest and most bovine of the four men with flaming brands accompanying them. ‘Don’t pick any fights, Sextus, and keep to the better-lit thoroughfares.’
    ‘No fights and keep to the better-lit thoroughfares; right you are, sir,’ Sextus said, slowly digesting his orders. ‘And give all the lads’ greetings to Senator Vespasian and Magnus when you see them.’
    ‘I will do.’ Sabinus clasped his uncle’s forearm. ‘We leave for Aquae Cutillae at the second hour of the day, Uncle.’
    ‘I’ll be at the Porta Collina, waiting with my carriage. Let’s hope my sister can hang on for the two days it’ll take us to get there.’
    Sabinus smiled, his round face, semi-shadowed in the torchlight, was thoughtfully sad. ‘Mother is very resolute; she won’t cross the Styx until she’s seen us.’
    ‘Vespasia has always been a woman who enjoyed trying to dominate her menfolk; it wouldn’t surprise me if she died on purpose, before we arrived, just to make us feel guilty at being forced to delay our departure by a day.’
    ‘It couldn’t be helped, Uncle; the business of Rome takes priority over personal affairs.’
    ‘It was ever thus, dear boy, ever thus. I shall see you tomorrow.’
    Sabinus watched his uncle make his way through a colonnade, into Caesar’s Forum at the foot of the Quirinal and then disappear from sight, with his bodyguards surrounding him like four torch-bearing colossi, warding off the dangers of a city made feral by night.
    With a prayer to his lord Mithras to preserve his dying mother for just two more days, he turned and headed the few paces to the Capitoline Hill and the Tullianum at its base.
    ‘How is he,