When the door was unbolted,
my husband had gone, off to attend
the emperor’s wake in York, Tranio said,
lowering his gaze. Had I paid my dues?
Those barbarian bitches had gone too.
This was ominous. Another week passed.
I was not allowed out of the house, I wandered
from room to room and only
when I was too weak to sit up did I find out
it was not despair sapping my energy
but arsenicum hidden in spicy sauces.
My home had become my mausoleum.
I asked for Alba and Venus: Tranio refused.
‘I have my orders, miss.’
‘Of course you owe me nothing. Not even a wife.
And by the way, it is madam to you.’
But I could not be angry with him, in truth.
Because he had not spilled the beans,
as he should have, he was implicated.
He had to survive. I was a goner anyway.
This time he followed Felix’s instructions
as loyally as every good slave should.
Another husband might have been proud
that the emperor had picked his wife
out of the millions queuing worldwide.
He will regret it, when he calms down,
after weeks, months, even years.
But he’ll never be able to speak of it,
and it will rot like an incurable ulcer
festering inside his stomach.
It was the last days of summer, the sun
had become a faltering heart beat,
I lay down on a couch in the atrium,
I had lost the ability to walk.
I opened my eyes and saw Alba enter
through the main doorway. Alba.
Dear, dear Alba. She rushed over.
‘Tranio sent for me. He’s told me! The fuckwit!
I’ll kill that grunting hog.
How long have you been like this?
No matter. Come, I’m taking you with.’
She tried to pull me up by my arms,
but I resisted. ‘No, Alba. It’s fate.’
‘Oh, sod fucking fate, while we live, let us live!’
‘No! It’s too late now anyway.’
‘I told you it would come to no good.
the features on her face, neither winning.
‘I’m dead anyway. Can’t you see?
I was given life, then it was taken away,
the actual act of dying is mere procedure.
It’s just breath now, a rain cloud on my chest,
and that’s getting harder to push out.’
‘Don’t be so heroic, Zuleika. I can’t stand it.’
‘And don’t be so dramatic, Alba.
This isn’t a Greek tragoedia, though
it could be mistaken for one.’
‘Life’s so unfair, Zee.’
I was silent, then,
‘Innit.’
‘I can’t imagine life without you.’
‘Don’t start whining. Just sit with me awhile,
and then go home, and remember me.’
It was all I allowed myself to think of now –
the first ten years, to remember
the married years, or the memory
of my euphoric summer of love,
felt like flinging myself atop a raging fire.
She sat down on the couch, held my hands,
tears flowing freely down cheeks brutalized
by bursting blood vessels.
‘You’ve been my best friend, Albs.’
‘I know.’
‘You’re wonderful in spite of your faults.’
‘I know.’
‘What’s going to become of you, eh?
You’ll get VD one of these days. You can’t
screw around for ever. You need to focus.’
‘What, and end up like you?’
‘Out of order, Albs. Bit below the purse-pouch.’
‘Sorry, Zee! Sorry! Sorry! It’s still sinking in.’
‘There’s no time for us to bicker. Answer me.’
‘I’ll be in search of more adventures, as usual.
I’ve me eye on someone, a lawyer this time.
I took V’s hint. Omnipotent stallholders?’
She was completely beyond redemption, my Alba,
I hoped the gods would treat her gently.
‘But this isn’t about me, Zuleika, it’s about you.’
‘Which means it’s about both of us.
Where is Venus the Penis?’
‘Incommunicado. Can you believe it,
she’s actually taken Big P to meet
her old boy and girl in deepest Camulodunum.
She’ll be devastated. Absolutely gutted.’
‘Tell her for me she’s a silly old tart,
with ginger dreadlocks and hendecasyllables
pouring out of their freckled little arses.’
‘I will.’ Her expression read – how can you
be funny at a time like this? How could I not?
I’d gone from my zenith to my nadir,
all in two short weeks. It was hysterical.
‘Felix isn’t a bad man, you know.
He’s the person he was brought up to be,
like all of us, even Venus, except
he did it with less imagination than most.
The only original thing he did was to wed
below his class, even then he hid me away.
He never knew me, you know, never knew
the wild child who would want more,
never once asked, “What do you want?” ’
‘Zuleika, don’t make excuses for that gargoyle.’
‘There are drops of clarity,
Poison does that to you.
Imminent death allows the birth
Of new perspectives.
When there is nothing left to lose,
For everything is lost,
Truth is a most welcome friend.
That’s my swan song, I think
it’s the only decent thing I’ve ever written.
Was I a plaything for Severus, do you think?’
It had been bugging me. The refrain.
‘What? With all the attention he paid you?
Trips out, treats, quality time alone? Hardly!’
‘You’re right. I was of great comfort to him,
and vicky versa. Will you bury me, Alba?
You know Felix has no intention, nor The Pops.’
‘Don’t be so morbid.’
‘I’m being pragmatic. Felix will chuck me out
as carrion, with a banner above my head:
I curse Zuleika and her life and mind
and memory and liver and lungs mixed up
together; thus may she be condemned
to pouring water into bottomless jars for ever.
Will you do it?’
‘You know I will. ‘Course I will.’
‘Dress me in my violet damask dalmatica
with gold thread, it’s laid out on my bed.
Severus sent for the material from the best
workshop in Syria, got a one-off made for me.
I wonder if they recognize designer labels
where I’m going? Get my hair
done in beautiful elaborate braids. Marcia’ll do it,
she’s head stylist at Kinky Girls on Cornhill.
on the lid of my coffin so that my journey
is safe, oh, and don’t forget my jet afro pick,
tweezers and especially my nail file –
I don’t want to look a state when I arrive.
Can you imagine, gorgon’s nails
and matted hair. Got that?’
‘Right you are, ma’am,’ she said, saluting.
‘And I want to be buried at the cemetery
in Spitalfields, not some nondescript
out-of-town site for the plebs, get the money
off Cato or Venus. And last but not least,
a tombstone, with this inscription:
To the spirits of the departed
And the memory of our pal Zuleika,
Who in her final summer
Lived a life fuller than any other.’
We sat there. Words? What words?
‘I wanted to be important, Albs.’
‘You’re important to me. We’re sisters.’
‘That’s not the same, though, is it?
I wanted to be a great poet or mosaicist
or something. I’d have made a good empress.’
‘The best!’
‘It was all that bloody schooling that did it.
Now it’s too late. I’m still only eighteen.
It’s my nineteenth birthday next week.
Light a candle for me. Now go home!
Your miserable face is making this worse.
Go home.’