The kitchen boy and lazy servant girls were still asleep. No doubt he’d find them sharing the same bed. Cornelius snorted to himself and went into the garden. The dark was growing watery as day began to break.

Drawing water from the well, he noticed figures passing on the road. They straggled by in little groups, not speaking, barely glancing at the house. The villa stood alone amid the fields and cypresses, but no-one seemed inclined to stop and beg.

Cornelius watched them gravely for a minute. He’d heard the rumours that such people brought. The mighty City – Rome herself – had been consumed by fire. And now the plague was stalking through the land.

The whispers chilled his ageing bones. The Gods would not be mocked. The world had been turned over, as a man turns over his garden with a spade. No wonder there were refugees along the open roads, and dissipation in his Lady’s house.

Shuddering distastefully, Cornelius turned away, and glimpsed a movement by the garden wall. His eyes were weak, the details blurred, but he realised somebody was lying there. Squinting, he moved closer, and the huddled figure stretched. Another of those refugees. Cornelius lumbered forward peevishly.

"Get up and on your way," he rasped. "Before I fetch the dogs." He made to kick the traveller in the ribs. The figure curled reflexively – then uncoiled like a cat. A dagger carved the air between them, glinting in the first rays of the sun.

Cornelius stumbled backwards, but the refugee stayed crouching in the grass. He was slightly-built, with collar-length dark hair. The face was just a grimy smudge. The blade moved into focus. Cornelius spread his hands, as if placating a fierce dog.

"Easy, lad … I didn’t mean to startle you," he said.

A pause, and then the figure spoke. "That’s just as well, old man." The voice was quiet, and sounded almost boyish. Cornelius wondered just how young he was.

Zoe stared back levelly and kept the dagger poised. The big man peered at her with bleary eyes. It tickled her to think she’d been mistaken for a boy. "You want some bread?" he asked. "I’ll get you some ..."

"I’ll work for it," said Zoe evenly.

She put the dagger back into its sheath and straightened up. The cloak slid off her shoulders to reveal the short, coarse tunic underneath. The hems had split to show her thighs, and her breasts pushed at the cloth, but the slave’s eyes were too dim to tell the difference. Zoe smiled thinly, with a glint he didn’t see. She jerked her head towards the sleeping house.

"I guess a place like this could use another pair of hands. It isn’t right to burden an old man. Scrubbing, sweeping – I don’t mind. A pallet and a crust is all I ask."

Cornelius hesitated, but he knew the boy was right. Most of the household slaves had fled already. Now the mistress planned a feast, as if to mock the chaos all around her. So any help was welcome. And besides – he eyed the road – they might need someone who could use a knife.

"All right, lad, you’re hired," he said. "Come on, I’ll get you something to eat."

Zoe slung the cloak back round her shoulders, and picked her bundle up out of the grass. Her gladius was sheathed inside it, ready to be grasped. An iron trident-head was also muffled in the burden. Its wooden shaft was now her walking-staff.

"I heard this was the villa of the lady Phillippa," she said.

"Aye," Cornelius muttered. "And the lady is an unforgiving mistress. Displease her and she’ll have you flogged. Or maybe skinned alive. And if your luck is really out, she’ll take you to her bed to service her."

He gave her a lewd grin and ambled back towards the house.

Behind him, Zoe’s smile was just as sly.

* * *

Tearing at a hunk of dry bread in the servants’ quarters, she pondered on the journey she had made. From the pit of Rome’s arena, through the City’s burning streets, and out into the restless countryside. She’d slept in hayricks, begged at farms, and sometimes spread herself to earn a crust. But every step along the road had been towards this house.

She ground the bread between her teeth. Her mouth was dry as dust. To think the lady Phillippa was under this same roof! She’d only met the matron once, but how could she forget it? The bitch had murdered her own husband, then smeared Zoe with his tell-tale blood.

"Have you any word of Rome?" Cornelius asked, still sweeping.

"The place is ruined," Zoe said. She hoped that it was true.

"They say the fires were started by the worshippers of Christos. The emperor will root them out like rats!"

Zoe put an olive in her mouth and didn’t answer. She’d known a Christian slave named Julia. The girl had been sweet-natured, and her body sweeter still. Were hungry lions chewing on it now?

"My lady’s house in Rome is gone," Cornelius went on dourly. "But we moved to the villa months ago. There was whispering behind her back, about her husband’s death. Although, as everybody knows, two harlots murdered him."

Zoe swallowed a dry lump. She knew of that, all right. Lucilla’s screams rang through her mind. Her best friend had been torn apart by beasts.

"Did I hear the lady had a daughter?" she asked idly.

"Aye. A spiteful little minx ..." Cornelius peered around belatedly. "But she is married to a soldier now, and gone away."

So there would be no settling with Corinna in this house. The daughter shared her mother’s bloody crime. Zoe saw her lonely road continuing ahead. But first there was her debt with Phillippa.

A young man entered from the yard at that point. He had dark hair, and darker eyes. They fixed on Zoe, frank and quizzical. "Hah, so you are up at last," Cornelius said, and then turned back to Zoe. "Marcus is our kitchen-boy. And what is your name, lad?"

"Lucius," said Zoe, knowing Marcus wasn’t fooled. His gaze had found the outlines of her breasts. A wry smile spread across his face, but Zoe didn’t blink. She tore herself another piece of bread.

A pair of giggly servant girls had followed at his heels. Their smiles thinned as they noticed her. They stared suspiciously. But Marcus only went and got some water from the cistern. Zoe watched him as he drank. He looked about her age, and tough as teak.

Then a woman’s voice came ringing through the house. Imperious and shrill, but slurred by wine. "Severina! Tullia! Where are my worthless maids?" The two girls blushed and scampered from the room.

Her tone had made Cornelius wince. He leaned against his broom. "Up now, lad, and earn your keep. We have a banquet to prepare tonight."

Zoe finished chewing and got smoothly to her feet. She felt the heat of Marcus’s dark gaze. It set her fine hairs prickling, but she wouldn’t be distracted. "How many servants are we, then?" she asked.

"Just us and our cook," Cornelius said. "The rest are gone. My lady is distracted now. She fears the world will end. This feast is for the few friends she has left – a shameless crowd! There are no morals any more." He spat into the hearth.

"She’s ordered us to make this like a feast of Cleopatra," said Marcus from the corner, gleefully. "Egyptian spice and decadence. We’ll do the lady proud. It’s good that you have joined us … Lucius."

Zoe glanced at him. There was a strange glint in his eye. She looked away again uneasily. Her eyes flicked to her bundle, and the hidden gladius, as she listened to Cornelius dole out chores.

* * *

She’d been a household slave before. The toil was quite familiar. She fetched and carried dumbly as the villa was prepared. But in an idle moment, as the afternoon turned golden, she paused to whet the dagger’s iron edge.

Phillippa would get to test its sharpness soon enough. The prospect brought a smile to Zoe’s lips. But as the whetstone scraped the blade, her thoughts were turned behind her. She wondered if the British vixen had picked up her trail.

Boudicca, the girl was called. A slave from the arena. Zoe had once bested her, and slaughtered five of her woad-painted sisters. Boudicca had sworn revenge, however long it took her.

Zoe had an idea how she felt.

Marcus came upon her there. She glanced up guiltily. That gleam was in his eyes again. "So Lucius has his weapon, after all."

His gaze went to her naked thigh. She pushed up from her crouch. "Nothing personal, Marcus, but if you lay a hand on me, I’ll cut your balls off."

"Feisty little bitch, aren’t you?" he said approvingly. "So why are you here – to steal from us? To cut our throats in bed?"

"I’ve only come for what I’m owed," said Zoe.

The young man eyed her thoughtfully. "You chose this house of ours. I think that you have no love for its mistress."

Zoe answered with a sulky look.

"So come along." He beckoned her. "I’ve something here that might just interest you."

Zoe hesitated, but his playful tone intrigued her. She slid the blade into its sheath and followed him across the dusty yard. Hens were pecking in the dust. The air felt warm and sticky. One of the slave-girls crossed their path, and stalked on with her nose stuck in the air.

A round, flat wicker basket had been left beside some pitchers. Marcus glanced around, then hunkered down. He smiled up at Zoe, but his eyes were bright and hard. He raised the lid, and Zoe almost flinched.

The basket was a nest of snakes. They coiled inside it, dozing in the heat. One put up its scaly head and let its tongue flick out. Marcus put the lid back down, while Zoe stared at him.

"She’s had me whipped too many times," said Marcus evenly. "Tonight I’m going to settle with the bitch. Let her play at being Cleopatra – to the end!" He gave Zoe a boyish grin. "You want a share of it?"

Zoe wet her lower lip, then bit it. She nodded slowly, hungrily. His grin grew mischievous. She looked back to the basket and the death that slumbered in it. Suddenly she couldn’t wait for dinner to be served.

* * *

She knew that it was time when the two servant girls came back into the kitchen. They’d been moving round the torch-lit courtyard, topping up the goblets of the guests. The wine had not been watered and the diners sounded drunk. But something had been added, though the sulky maids were unaware of it.

The pair of girls were blushing as they set their pitchers down. They were dressed in the Egyptian style, with long white skirts and cotton headdresses. In between, their top halves were quite naked, their ample breasts displayed for all to see. Their eyes were lined with kohl, which only made them look more sullen. No doubt they’d both been groped and fondled as they did their rounds.

They waited by the wall and looked resentfully at Zoe, who’d got away with wearing a boy’s clothes. She and Marcus both wore tunics of Egyptian cotton, and hers fitted too closely round the chest. A leather thong held back her hair. Her naked legs were gleaming. She felt the flagstones under her bare feet.

"They’re ready for the next course, now," said Tullia, speaking pointedly to Marcus.

"We have it ready," Marcus said, and Zoe’s heartbeat surged. The two of them exchanged a glance, then thrust a dagger into each girl’s gut.

"Ough!" the maids burst out together, trying to double forward. The killers forced them back against the wall. Zoe had got Tullia, a plump and pretty girl, whose cool disdain had turned to disbelief. With just a flicker of regret, she gave the knife a twist. The girl’s mouth yawned into a silent scream.

"Sorry," Zoe told her grimly, "but you’re in the way." She felt the maid’s tits heave against her chest. Beside her, Marcus had his mouth clamped over Severina’s, devouring whatever noise she made.

The two maids quivered and collapsed, their bodies sliding limply down the wall. They slumped against each other, Tullia’s head on her friend’s shoulder. Zoe stared, and wiped her mouth. Her hand was slick with blood.

"Come on," Marcus snapped at her. He picked up the wicker basket. Zoe sheathed her sticky blade and took the platter with the roasted pig. She followed him along the passage, through to the back garden, the sounds of drunken laughter getting louder all the time.

Torches lit the patio, and candles glowed amidst the greenery. The diners were reclined on couches round the central table, still talking as they licked their fingers clean. They’d cleared the plates of peacock tongues and dormice glazed in honey. The cook would have been satisfied, if Marcus hadn’t sliced his fat throat first.

Carrying the heavy platter, Zoe looked about her. Phillippa’s companions looked as privileged as she. Patrician women in their thirties, beautiful but haughty. A couple of florid, leery men were chuckling with them. Somebody had brought along a sulky teenage daughter. She was picking at her teeth and looking bored.

Clearly there had been some horseplay in between the courses. Elaborate hairstyles had been mussed and gowns were coming loose. One woman was gnawing on a pigeon’s juicy breast, oblivious to the grease that splashed her own. Perhaps it was the sense of doom that made them so abandoned – or maybe Romans always ate like this.

Zoe set the plate down on the table, and looked up into Phillippa’s grey eyes. The matron peered back at her, befuddled but impatient. "Well don’t just stand there, boy. Let’s see you carve!"

Her face was just as Zoe had remembered, with its chiselled cheekbones and disdainful mouth. Flawless, but as hard as flint. The kohl-ringed eyes were hooded shrewishly. The woman wore a flowing headdress and a filmy gown. A heavy necklace rested on her breasts.

Of course she didn’t recognise the girl she had condemned. Zoe felt relieved, and then enraged. She was reaching for the carving knife when someone grasped her tunic and dragged her down onto the nearest couch.

She found herself being fondled by a drunken, pouting blonde. "What a pretty boy," she crooned. "I’ll wager you can make a woman sing!" She squeezed at Zoe’s biceps, then began to stroke her chest. A frown knitted her forehead. "You’ve got tits!"

"Not to worry," Zoe said. "I’ve got a prick as well."

She placed her blade beneath the woman’s breast and jabbed it home. The blonde gave a startled grunt, then wailed aloud. Zoe wrenched the dagger round and jerked it free again. A blurt of crimson spattered her white tunic.

The woman flopped back, open-mouthed, as Zoe scrambled upright. The other diners’ jaws had slackened too. For a moment they just stared at one another in the torchlight, while heedless moths went dancing round the flames. Then she saw the first, sharp pangs distort their pale faces, as the poisoned wine began to take effect.

Marcus hurled the contents of his basket at the group. The black snakes flew uncoiling through the air. The diners flailed in horror as the serpents fell among them. They cried out as Lucilla had, and Zoe’s thoughts became a molten blur.

She backhanded the blade across the nearest woman’s windpipe. The lady reared back, clutching at her neck. Blood spilled out between her fingers as she jerked and gurgled. The teenage girl was squealing as a serpent sank its fangs into her thigh.

Marcus sprang towards the woman with the grease-flecked cleavage and sank his blade into her glistening flesh. Her scream was muffled by her mouthful; then she choked on it. Zoe spun, and kicked one of the men as he lurched upright. Her hard, bare foot sent him rebounding back.

Another of the women started clutching at her throat, as if in imitation of her friend. The poison had her in its grip. She squirmed in anguish as it throttled her. A snooty redhead grasped her stomach, rolling off her couch. Zoe had no time to see if it was from the wine or Marcus’s dagger.

Not everyone had drunk enough to make them easy prey. A goblet flew at Zoe, and fragmented as she caught it on her shoulder. The impact made her stumble and the other man lunged forward. He shoved her back onto the table, and the legs collapsed beneath their weight.

Bowls and pitchers smashed as Zoe kicked and tumbled clear. The roast pig landed with a juicy thud. The carving knife rang dully on the flagstones. The man sucked in his breath and pounced on it.

Zoe twisted round beside the carcase of the pig. She reached into its body cavity. Her gladius slid out of it, the bright blade oozing grease. She swung it at the diner’s head, and sprayed the wall with globules of gore.

Marcus was behind the other man and stabbing him. The surviving female diners gasped and writhed. Zoe slashed at one of them, and drove her blade into another’s heart. The garden statues stood and watched. The marble face of one was flecked with red.

The teenage girl contorted as the serpent’s venom killed her. Her head lolled and her tongue poked out, as if she meant to lick between her breasts. Zoe shoved her to one side and closed with Phillippa. The matron cowered back against her couch.

"Oh, the horror!" Zoe mocked. "Remember me, you cow? Your husband sent me back to say hello."

Phillippa’s eyes widened in despair and disbelief, and Zoe glimpsed a movement on the couch. One of the snakes was coiling there. She lunged and snatched it up. The matron’s dress was open to her navel and revealed the inner arcs of her full breasts. Zoe pressed the serpent’s head between them. Phillippa screamed hoarsely as it bit into her flesh.

"That’s from Lucilla!" Zoe said. She dropped her sword and snatched a goblet up. Seizing the woman by the hair, she bent her over backwards. "And this is from me!" she hissed, and poured a stream of poisoned wine into her mouth.

Phillippa bucked madly, trying to claw at Zoe’s face. She gargled as the liquid filled her lungs. And all the while, the serpent’s bite was scalding through her veins. Her body arched and spasmed, and then went slack.

Zoe let the goblet drop. She straightened, breathing hard. A stream of wine came trickling from the woman’s mouth like blood. The serpent hissed and curled up in her lap.

Then a bloody dagger nicked the skin of Zoe’s neck.

She froze. A lifeless silence filled the garden. She felt Marcus behind her, tense and poised. Carefully she turned her head. The dagger pricked her sharply. A twisted little smile sat on his lips.

"Thank you … Lucius," he said. "But now I fancy we’ve come far enough."

Zoe swallowed. "Never trust a kitchen boy," she said. "He’ll always have his finger in the pie."

The dagger forced her head back round towards the lady’s corpse. She saw the snake’s tongue flicking out at her. "Let it taste you," Marcus said. "Or would your rather that I slit your throat?"

She hesitated, biting on her lip – then stretched her arm out. The snake reared upward, black eyes watching her. Zoe felt her skin becoming gooseflesh. Her muscles stiffened, and the serpent struck. It drove its fangs into her forearm and she gasped with pain, then whimpered and collapsed onto the couch.

Marcus looked on, panting, as she squirmed convulsively. Her mouth gaped open in a soundless wail. He watched her gasp and quiver till her spasms were exhausted. She slumped between the matron and the girl.

The snake had slithered clear by then, and Marcus licked his lips. Her face was blank as he reached out for her. He ripped her bloody tunic open, baring her firm breasts, then pulled apart the tight folds of her loincloth. Grasping her thighs, he hauled her up and thrust himself inside her. She jiggled loosely as his pelvis jerked.

Spent at last, he let her flop like a discarded doll. The diners lolled around them silently. He wished that he could fuck them all, but knew there wasn’t time. Leaving Zoe where she sprawled, he hurried back into the cool, dark house.

Cornelius met him by the cistern, coming to investigate the noise. Marcus snatched a wooden ladle up and clouted him. The slave’s skull fractured with a crunch. He toppled like a sack. The oil lamps flickered as he hit the floor. Hurdling the body, Marcus came into the atrium. The servants of the guests were gathered there. They shrank back at the sight of him, as if he were a beast. He snarled, and they fled out into the night.

He let a tomb-like silence fill the villa, then hunkered down before a wooden chest. The household wealth was kept in here. He poked the dagger’s point into the lock. That crazy bitch had been so set on vengeance, she’d done most of the dirty work for him. Now he could enjoy his lady’s fortune, while "Lucius" was tipped into a ditch ...

Then he sensed a breath of movement in the passageway. He swung round with the dagger braced – and froze. She’d risen from the garden and was standing there before him, the lamp-flames glistening on her naked skin.

Zoe raised her wooden staff. A snake was coiled around it. Marcus stared in disbelief, and thought of a physician’s caduceus. Strands of hair were in her eyes, but he could see them glinting. Her breasts were pulsing and her bush was wet.

"Serpents are like men," she said. "They need to work their juices up again." She looked up at the hissing snake. Its gaze seemed fixed on Marcus. "I guess this one should be recovered now."

Marcus yelled and lunged at her. She gave the staff a flick. The serpent hit him in the face and chewed into his cheek. He howled and tried to tear it off, but the bite had reached his bloodstream. He flailed away and crumpled to the floor.

Zoe squatted down and laid the staff across her thighs. Her own bite wasn’t poisoned, but it burned. Sweat was trickling down her breasts. Her hair was lank and matted. Still short of breath, she watched him writhe and die.

* * *

Dawn seeped slowly through the night and turned its ink to water. The clouds grew pink behind the cypress trees. A cock was crowing somewhere, but the villa lay in silence. At the cistern, Zoe washed herself.

It helped her to feel clean again. There was food in her slim belly. She’d even snatched herself an hour of sleep. The corpses still lay strewn where she had left them. She’d wiped the juices off her gladius.

She put her shabby tunic on, and laced her calf-length sandals. Her pack and bundled cloak went on her back. Taking her staff, she went outside. The countryside was misty. More refugees were passing on the road.

Somewhere at the end of it were Livia and Corinna, the other women she had sworn to kill. And Boudicca would be behind her, nurturing a vengeance of her own. Zoe paused and looked both ways, then joined the walking shadows, her stride becoming firmer with each step.