Doctor Who: The Romans (7 page)

I told her, somewhat stiffly, that I was not in the least interested in what she always said; and added that she would attend to my requirements at once, if she knew what was good for her!

At this she cackled in an unpleasant manner, and informed me that it was knowing what was bad for people which had made her the woman she was today.

I summoned a sickly smile from somewhere, not wishing to offend the old hag unduly; whereupon she softened somewhat, and said she’d do what she could to fit me in.

‘Who’s the lucky victim to be, then ?’ she enquired.

‘Anyone you know, or is it just a game of "Swap the Goblet"

again?’

By a curious coincidence, it was at this moment that Barbara herself ran rapidly along the corridor, clanking with unsolicited gifts obviously given to her by my husband; since he presently appeared in lolloping pursuit, yet another golden bracelet clutched in his flaccid hands –

an item which I at once recognised as being his anniversary present to me!

Overcome with mortification, the shame of my betrayal, and a certain amount of ungovernable fury, I fear I so far forgot myself as to hiss like a snake, and to spit in the general direction of their retreating figures; and Locusta took the point at once.

‘So that’s the little lady, is it?’ she asked, as I nodded speechlessly between expectorations.

‘Well, there’s nothing too nasty, in my opinion, for the sort of sly-boots who uses the well-known wiles of the seraglio to come between an Emperor and his missus.

Leave it to me, dearie. It’ll be my pleasure to mix her something really special in the way of lethal overdoses...’

And she pottered off to her potion pantry.

Can I trust her? And indeed, can I trust anyone? It is sometimes difficult for a comparatively inexperienced girl to know which way to turn.

Heigh-ho, once more!

A Poisoner Remembers (Extract from
The Autobiography of Locusts)

It was another busy day in the pharmaceutical department, and I remember reflecting that if business continued to improve at that rate, it would kill itself off before it got fairly started. And where would I be then, I asked myself, having only one pair of hands at that stage in my career, and that couple time-worn and gnarled with arthritis or some such affliction; which in the present state of medical knowledge we do not truly understand, although I work constantly at a wonder drug in my spare time, if any, keeping a sharp lookout for unwanted side-effects, because who knows when they might not come in useful?

No, what I really needed, it seemed to me, if I was to give of my worst whenever requested, was an assistant to take the weight off my crucibles now and then, so as to let me get on with a spot of high level government research into astrology like the rest of my coven, who were doing very well for themselves, thank you, with horoscopes of the famous, while I slaved away for peanuts in my rotten grotto!

No sooner had this long but half-formulated thought been caught in my attention than there came a knock on the laboratory door, causing me to drop a hot goblet on my frock and emit an eldrich scream, and there stood a pert young party who asked me if I could direct her to the Imperial Apartments as she seemed to have got lost.

‘A likely tale!’ I thought, and was about to invite her to a final wine-tasting, when it occurred to me that here might be just the apprentice my enterprises required, and I asked her if she had ever considered a career in toxicology, as it was a growth industry right now?

She said she’d try anything once, and introduced herself as Vicki, of no fixed address, which could be convenient, I thought, it the arrangement didn’t work out. So I agreed to give her an hour or so’s probationary period, during which she could make herself generally useful taking the drudgery out of my work by handling the victim-to-crypt delivery side of the business.

And since she was on her way to the throne room any old how, perhaps as a favour to the Empress she wouldn’t mind taking up a couple of sparkling drinks - this one for Nero, and that one for his new lady friend who was almost certain to be with him round about now, and if not then give it to whoever was, as it seemed a pity to waste it.

I then turned my back for a moment, and was gratified to see in the mirror that she immediately switched the glasses, which I had depended upon, having misinformed her as to which was which.

So here I had a thoroughly dishonest and unscrupulous child who was almost certain to give every satisfaction and sudden death quite impartially.

It seemed I had chosen well...

DOCUMENT XIX

Nero, enough!

What is the use of going on like this? I atn not unaware of your interest in me, having received from your clammy hands to date more priceless jewels of the Orient than I can possibly wear without appearing to be vulgar.

And while we are on the subject, can you really believe that if I were to incorporate Cleopatra’s coronet into my coiffure, such ostentation would not arouse your wife’s criticism, should she notice the adornment?

I do not wish to hurt your feelings by sending back these items; but under separate cover you will find your no doubt well meant oysters, which I am returning unopened, being conscious of their reputedly aphrodisiacal properties.

I would have preferred not to have to write this somewhat cruel letter, hoping to have eliminated the necessity for it by my previous behaviour; which has included, you may recall, striking you with a metal tea-tray at our first meeting, and subsequently screaming at your passionate approach, shuddering at your tentative touch, et cetera.

But since, apparently, you are incapable of taking a hint, there are certain things which must be said if our already unpleasant relationship is not to degenerate further -

although to what loathsome depths it is susceptible of descending, I prefer not to think!

You should, therefore, know - in all fairness - that it is useless for you to attempt to conceal your unsavoury self beneath the simulacrum of a sugar-satyr; since, as a sometime teacher of history, I am fully cognizant of that suppurating septicaemia of the so-called soul which invests your festering facade with the dropsical dross of all possible nostrils!

Let us be honest: I do not find you in the least bit attractive.

I am sorry if this seems harsh, but I hope that you will feel able to forgive me in time, and allow me to remain your unmolested, but in other respects, obedient servant, M/S Barbara Wright

DOCUMENT XX

Nero’s Scrapbook

She loves me! I feel almost sure she does! Why else should she have written me a letter concealing her true feelings -

which must be almost uncontrollable to have driven her to adopt such a course? And, having adopted it, the poor besotted child has rendered it vain by signing herself M/S -

which can, I think, only be intended as an abbreviation of Mus!

Well, my little Mouse - if that is what you wish me to call you - I shall be your great big pussy cat, just see if I’m not!

Further to which, as I was awaiting - why should I have to wait? It’s too bad! - the arrival of the itinerant ballad-monger, Maximus Petullian, I was very naturally musing on lions and their maintenance; and the thought occurred to me that perhaps I have inadvertently been cruel - well, just a tiny bit - to use them as I do. Because all this time I have been feeding them with Christians by the arena-full, and have never once thought to ask myself if this was an adequate diet.

One imagines the King of Beasts turning to his lady, and grumbling, ‘Christians again? Why can’t you ever stay in and
cook
something?’

And I see his point – I really do! It must be dreadfully monotonous for them, and I accept the criticism. Very well then; in future they shall have roast Christian! I see an avenue of blazing human torches, down which the great cats pad, selecting the joint they prefer at will, and feeling, I am sure, the better for it. Their condition is bound to improve in no time, and they will fawn upon their benefactor in the most gratifying manner. I cannot imagine why I have never thought of this before, and I blame myself for my lack of consideration.

(Memo: Ask Max. P. if Christian.)

I had reached this point in my reflections when the adorable Barbara entered the room, saw me, blanched provocatively, squeaked enticingly, and went out again.

I at once forgot all but my, by now, routine pursuit of the beautiful houri; and, snatching up some golden gew-gaw from my wife’s dressing table, I chased her lithely about the endless corridors of my palatial love-nest, along which she fled me like some shy gazelle; and I am reasonably confident that she would have allowed me to catch her on this occasion, had not my winged feet encountered a loose, leopard-skin draught-stopper, which brought my subtle courtship to a premature and undignified close, and left me spread-eagled on the floor of the very room from which I had started out with such high hopes!

I remarked, ‘Whoops!’, or some such expletive; and rose laboriously to my feet before the astonished gaze of my musical rival, Maximus Petullian, whose impending visit I fear I had quite forgotten in my excitement.

Hardly the entrance I would have chosen; nor would it have been my wish to find the soporific Poppy amongst those present! For, as I have confided in these pages previously, if a marriage is going to last, it will never be my fault. I have, in fact, already written her obituary, and cannot wait to publish. But for the moment she is still Empress, I suppose, and must be accorded as scant and grudging respect as I can contrive; at any rate, in public.

So I waved her graciously to a foot-stool, and taking my place on the malachite and carbuncle encrusted catafalque I keep for emergencies, I asked my visitor his business.

I had intended the question to be rhetorical, at most, as I had not the slightest interest in learning the answer; but to my utter annoyance, he at once produced a sheaf of closely written documents, and informed me that he had taken the liberty of preparing an agenda for this, and possibly subsequent meetings, should we not have time to cover every point he wished to raise during the course of this one evening.

I explained, with as much self-control as I could muster on the spur of the moment, that I was a very busy Emperor

– at which Poppy laughed nastily – and that he should consider himself damn’ lucky to have the privilege of seeing me at all, never mind any nonsense about ongoing and open-ended discussions, thank you!

In fact, the only reason he was here, as far as I was concerned, was so that he could give me a tune - preferably short - on the box, there; which would give me an opportunity of judging whether he met the high standard necessary to participate in the ‘Nero Caesar in Concert’

concert, billed for the banquet tomorrow.

I was pleased to see that he faltered slightly on hearing this; but rapidly, confound him, recovering his impertinent composure, he declared that there would be plenty of time for all that sort of nonsense later; but first he was anxious to hear my proposals for the relieving of traffic congestion on the Appian Way, the amelioration of slum conditions in the inner city areas, and for the gradual phasing out of slavery in favour of the principle of ‘one man, one vote’, so popular during the Republic! Oh yes, and one other thing: why did people keep trying to kill him?

Well, on the evidence available, I could have answered his last question then and there - a justifiable homicide it would be, if ever there was one; but being anxious to preserve the reputation for Sweet Reason which I have to insist on, I contented myself with saying that there was a lot of assassination about just now, so he mustn’t think he was being discriminated against unfairly. As to the Appian Way, I had already decided to abolish pedestrians in order to facilitate free-flow; the slums were certainly a burning problem (here I smiled slightly and secretly) which was receiving my most pernicious pyromania (Here I smiled broadly and publicly, to show that I didn’t mean it really); and, finally, I said that I didn’t see what he had against slavery, as personally I was very fond of slaves - at which Poppy again laughed nastily - and, in any case, I couldn’t do everything at once now, could I? There was my poetry to get on with for instance, not to mention my musical compositions for augmented strings - and by the way, speaking of which, what about his obliging with an arpeggio or two, as requested? (One has to be firm on these occasions, hasn’t one, or people take advantage?) Not, of course, that I really
wanted
to listen to the fellow play; but nevertheless I arranged myself amongst the cushions of the catafalque in an attitude of artistic receptivity; closing my eyes, as I have seen critics do when listening to my own performances. Although exactly why one is supposed to hear better with the eyes shut, I have never properly understood.

However, I soon opened them again, for seldom in a life devoted to aesthetics and their capture have my ears been assaulted by such a frantic cacophony as presently shattered a crystal candelabrum of which I had been particularly fond.

‘Pardon me, Petullian,’ I said, interrupting his frenetic threnody before it cracked the plaster, ‘but as a matter of courtesy, might it not have been better to have
tuned
your malodoron, or whatever it is, before entering these premises? I have no wish to discourage a fellow practitioner, but I warn you that if you ever do anything like that again, I must seriously consider having you dropped in the Bosphorus!’

He regarded me in a pained manner.

‘You didn’t like it?’ he enquired; needlessly, I’d have thought. ‘Well, of course, that was only the introductory exposition. I develop the main theme later...’

‘Not in this palace, you don’t!’ I told him.

‘I appreciate that to your untutored ears...’

‘Leave my ears out of it!’