Emperor

XXI

'A prophecy? How very interesting. What prophecy?'

Nectovelin glared.

'Search him, Vespasian.'

Vespasian called a guard to help him. It took only a moment for the leather document wallet to be placed in Claudius's hands.

Claudius fingered the wallet gingerly, his face pinched. 'It smells as if it has been strapped to a horse.' But he loosened its ties, extracted the parchment, and unfolded it. He carried it over to a lamp for better light, and squinted. Then he picked up a little wire frame mounted with two lenses, and held it before his eyes.

Agrippina gasped, thinking of another Prophecy phrase-a man will come with eyes of glass. Somehow, was it all coming true?

Nectovelin looked at her suspiciously.

'Well, well,' Claudius said. 'A British prophecy written out in Latin-and quite good Latin at that. Tell me how this came to be.' When Nectovelin did not reply the Emperor took off his 'eyes of glass' and turned on him. 'You do understand that all that is keeping you alive is my curiosity.'

Nectovelin seemed to be shaking with rage. Agrippina understood that to him the Prophecy was an amulet, its magical powers independent of whatever its words actually said-and now, in this moment of ultimate failure, he was having to endure those words being read by a stranger, an enemy. But he made himself recount the story of his birth: the Latin chatter of his mother in labour, how her words had been transcribed by Agrippina's grandfather.

Claudius eyed Agrippina. 'So it's a family matter. And when was this? How old are you, man?'

Nectovelin gave his age: forty-seven summers.

'Forty-seven, forty-seven…' Claudius went to his desk and began pawing through scrolls. 'Something is in the back of my mind. What else was significant about that date? We Romans are partial to a good prophecy, you know,' he said, lecturing the party of rebel Britons and tense soldiers, while casually facing the other way. 'You can see the appeal. We mortals fumble our way through the mist of events like men in blindfolds. How marvellous it would be to glimpse the future clearly-or even the past! We Romans have our own prophetic books…'

The Sibylline Books had been a gift to a king of Rome by a sorceress called the Sibyl. The Books foretold the entire future of Rome, so the sorceress said.

'Sadly the Books were destroyed in a fire more than a century ago. But a collection of fresh oracles has since been gathered from shrines around the world, and housed in the temple of Apollo on the Palatine since the time of the deified Augustus. Perhaps this new oracle will find a place in that strange library-what do you think?…

'Ah, here we are.' He dug out a scroll, unrolled it on his desk and ran his thumb along its surface. 'Um. According to this compendium the year of your birth was unremarkable, hairy man-save for one thing: another birth, of a certain prophet in Judea. The Jews, you know, an excitable people! The villain was crucified in the reign of my uncle Tiberius as I recall, and rightly so. No more than a coincidence, no doubt-though if I were a god composing a prophecy, nothing about it would be coincidental.

'And what is it we actually have here?' He held up the parchment, peering down through his lenses. 'Quite brief, isn't it?'

Agrippina found herself saying, 'Only sixteen lines.'

She saw Nectovelin's shoulders stiffen. In that moment Nectovelin knew for certain she had somehow seen the document herself, against his express wishes. Whatever the outcome today, she feared that she had already destroyed her relationship with a man who had been like a father.

Claudius watched this with interest; he seemed fascinated by the British. 'Sixteen lines, yes. You've evidently read it, girl. But I wonder how well you know it-if your education was only Gallic then perhaps not well at all. There is some subtlety here. Why, there's even an acrostic.' He held up the bit of parchment to Agrippina. 'Look, girl, can you see how the first letters of the lines combine to form a phrase? A-C-O-N…Perhaps this is the key to the whole thing. The original Sibylline Books featured similar acrostics, as I recall. An intriguing connection.

'There are some specific predictions here, aren't there? Of an emperor with a German name…And I am Germanicus.' He looked up sharply at Agrippina. 'Interesting. But what's this about a noose of stone around the neck of the island?' He glanced at Vespasian. 'Does this island have a neck, legate?'

'Nobody knows, sir.'

'On we go, cryptic and confusing-baffling, as are all such oracles, or I suppose we wouldn't value them so highly-ah, and at the end, a few lines about freedom and happiness and so forth. Clumsy poetry, nothing more; I'm surprised the gods saw fit to include it.' He turned to Nectovelin. 'You, hairy man-can you read this at all?' Claudius threw back his head and laughed. 'So you have a prophecy, uttered by your own mother, in the language of your conquerors-a language you can neither understand nor read! The gods may or may not know the future, but they certainly have a sense of humour.'

'I don't need to read it,' Nectovelin said. 'I know what it says. That you Romans will be thrown off this island, and I will enjoy doing it.'

Claudius seemed perplexed. 'Actually it says no such thing.' He turned to Agrippina. 'Do you believe this is prophetic?'

'Yes,' Agrippina admitted.

'And what does it mean?'

'I think we cannot fight you today,' she said quietly.

'What? What? Speak up, girl!'

She took a deep breath, aware of the harm she was about to do to Nectovelin, whether he lived or died. 'We can't win today. The Prophecy says so.'

Nectovelin rumbled like a bull. Vespasian's grip on his arm tightened. All around the room the soldiers tensed, and Narcissus shivered in Agrippina's grasp.

Claudius whispered, 'Well, in that case, what happens next all depends on you, Agrippina. If you will let me, I will spare you. Not through mercy-because you intrigue me, you and your lover.'

'And if I allow you to let me live, will you spare Nectovelin?' The bargaining sounded strange to Agrippina's own ears.

Nectovelin turned to face Agrippina. 'You've betrayed me once today already, child. Don't do it again.'

Vespasian, too, was outraged. 'Sir, you can't listen to this!'

Claudius was composed. 'How amusing that both captor and captive should reject a peaceful solution!'

Somehow Agrippina was in control of the situation. 'Let Nectovelin go,' she said. And in her own tongue she said to Nectovelin: 'I'm sorry.'

'Disarm him and throw him out, legate.'

'Sir-'

'He's broken already. He's no threat to us. And now we'll have to decide what to do with you two children-if you will first stop giving my secretary that unwelcome shave.'

With Nectovelin ejected, Agrippina released Narcissus. He stumbled away from her with a look of murderous hatred, massaging his throat and fingering his cut cheek.

Cunedda, freed, approached Agrippina. 'How could you do that to Nectovelin?'

'I saved his life.'

'But he lost his honour. And the Prophecy-'

'He never understood the Prophecy. Claudius was right. There are times when being able to read is a great advantage. Cunedda, the Prophecy talks of three emperors. Claudius is only the first. So we can't defeat him-not if the Prophecy contains any truth. For the Romans will be here for a long, long time.'

He rubbed his upper arm, bruised from a soldier's grasp. 'And Mandubracius?'

She flinched. 'I haven't forgotten. I will avenge my brother. I'll just have to find another way. There's one thing I've learned today above all else, Cunedda. This is a long game we're playing.'

Rufrius Pollio, commander of the Praetorian Guard, approached them. His sword was sheathed, but his look was venomous-but then he was in significant trouble for allowing assassins to come so close to the Emperor. 'Time to go,' he said in Latin.

Agrippina blurted, 'Emperor-'

Claudius turned.

'I must believe the Prophecy is truthful, for its predictions have come to pass. But there is a detail I don't understand.'

Claudius frowned. 'What detail?'

'That you would come to Britain accompanied by exotic beasts-horses big as houses, teeth like scimitars…'

Claudius stared at her. Then he turned to the commander of his guard. 'Rufrius Pollio, will you open that curtain?'

The soldier did so, to reveal a rectangle of deep blue evening sky. And, through the window, Agrippina saw a shadow moving by: massive yet graceful, a great head nodding. Perhaps distracted by the light from the tent the head turned, and a startlingly human eye peered at her. A trunk was raised, and tusks flashed.

Claudius said gravely, 'Some of this little poem of yours could be no more than sensible guesswork. Rome was bound to come here under one emperor or another. But it's hard to see who but the gods could have foreseen them, isn't it?'

Agrippina felt as if the world had come to pieces, and was reassembling in a different shape entirely.