Domina

Chapter 4

‘Sic Habet! Sic Habet! Let him have it! Let him have it!’

The crowd thundered in one great roar, people on their feet leaning forward, thumbs pointing to the ground: the populace of Rome shrieking for a man’s life. I watched the arena, where Sullienus, in Thracian armour, had brought down Callaxtus the net man. The latter hadn’t fought very well; he had been clumsy and frightened, although admittedly, I myself was not the most stalwart of warriors. Although it was early spring the amphitheatre was hot and close. The stench of cooking sausages, oil, human sweat and blood seeped everywhere. Sullienus turned, sword raised towards the imperial box draped in purple and gold. I was sitting at the back. The Emperor was not present: Tiberius was ensconced to Capri, taking his cronies, vices and power with him. Rome was under the careful scrutiny of Sejanus, Prefect of the city, Commander of the Praetorian Guard.

As Caesar’s right hand, Sejanus also controlled the secret police, which is where I come in. My father had died, his remains buried somewhere in the Teuterborg forest, and my mother had not long survived his death, wasting away to skin and bones. Before she died, though, she had hired a scribe and dictated a letter on my behalf to her distant kinsman Sejanus. He hadn’t bothered to meet me himself, but had delegated the task to one of his minions. I had expected a posting in the army, as I had done some military service or, in view of my education, a benefice in the courts or treasury. Instead Sejanus’s minion (I forget his name but remember his face), sat on the corner of a table and scrutinised me carefully.

‘You don’t look Roman.’ He got up and walked round, examining every inch of my close-cropped head. ‘Swarthy, aren’t you? Are you sure you’re Roman? I’d wager you were Numidian or Mauretanian?’

‘I’m Roman. My mother’s family are of Spanish blood.’

‘Ah,’ the Minion replied. ‘I see you can read and write, have done service with the auxilaries and that your father was killed in Germany?’

‘He was a centurion,’ I replied. ‘In the Second Augusta until he was swept up in Varus-’

‘Shush!’ The Minion tapped me on the shoulder. ‘The first lesson of the imperial court is that you never mention Quintilius Varus, his legions, or his defeat.’

He walked away as if still shocked by my utterance. I sat and stared. The Minion was correct. No one wanted to know about Varus, and how he had led his legions into snow-bound forests only to be ambushed. They say the massacre took almost a week as the Germans broke the legions and hunted them down amongst the dark, demon-infested trees. When Germanicus invaded, to reclaim Rome’s honour and its lost eagles, he found the remains of Varus’s armies strewn over miles: bones heaped in glades; skulls nailed to tree trunks; the charred flesh of those burnt on altars or sacrificed in wicker baskets.

‘So, you are a kinsman of Dominus Sejanus. But a very distant one, aren’t you? I’ve done a little research on you, Parmenon. They say you are surly, taciturn, but a good listener. Is that true?’

‘I am listening to what you say,’ I replied.

The Minion laughed at my joke.

‘We need men like you, Parmenon. His excellency Dominus Sejanus needs eyes and ears. Would you be his eyes and ears, Parmenon?’

I knew all about Dominus Sejanus. ‘You mean a spy, an informer?’

I kept my face impassive, but I was angry. I may be many things, but I am no traitor. The Minion was insulting me. His excellency Dominus Sejanus was insulting me but. . I had no family, no prospects, no money. Moreover, if I refused this offer, I had no doubt something rather unpleasant would happen. Men like Sejanus don’t allow you to refuse such a proposal and then walk away.

‘I would be his excellency’s faithful servant,’ I replied and made a secret sign with my fingers, a childish trick to ward off the effect of a lie.

‘Good!’ the Minion exclaimed. He shifted his cloak and sat down behind his desk. It was a tawdry little chamber in an outbuilding of the Palatine Palace. He picked up a piece of parchment.

‘Do you know Domina Agrippina?’

‘Which one?’ I replied.

The Minion laughed. ‘The younger one. Sixteen years old and sweet with it, so the men say.’

‘You are talking about the daughter of Germanicus?’

I enjoyed doing that. The Minion furrowed his brow, realising his mistake. He could joke with impunity about many things but nobody joked about our great Roman hero Germanicus, the general who’d invaded Germany to retrieve Rome’s honour.

‘Ah well.’ The Minion cleared his throat. ‘Domina Agrippina needs a scribe, a secretarius.’

‘And you need a spy?’ I added.

He raised his close-set eyes, a sly grin on his face.

‘You are very blunt,’ the Minion whispered.

‘I want to be very clear about what I am to do.’

‘I think you know full well,’ the Minion replied. ‘Let’s see, in a week’s time on the feast of Minerva,’ he clicked his tongue, ‘his excellency will chair the Games held in the Divine One’s honour. Agrippina and her family,’ he smirked again, ‘what’s left of them, will be his excellency’s guests in the imperial box. You’ll receive authorisation to join them there, and can introduce yourself to Domina Agrippina.’

‘What happens if she doesn’t want me?’

‘I don’t give a fart whether she wants you.’ He mimicked my voice. ‘Or likes you. You’ll carry a letter, sealed by his excellency, stating very clearly that you are now a member of her household.’ He scratched the side of his cheek and wafted away a buzzing fly.

I stared behind him at the bust of Tiberius, the Divine One, sitting on its plinth. The sculptor hadn’t simply flattered: he was guilty of a downright lie. The head looked like that of a young Greek athlete, the hair brought forward to fringe the noble brow, the long nose, deep-set eyes and generous mouth. I’d seen Tiberius from afar. His skin was scabby, his right ear stuck out, he had lost his teeth and his breath, so they said, reeked like a sewer. Naturally I kept such observations to myself. The Minion pushed a scroll across, followed by a very small leather bag which clinked. I was hired. I took both letter and money, and a slave ushered me out through the back entrance.

So, there I was, on the feast of Minerva, sitting in the imperial box watching a man prepare to die. In fact, I hadn’t really followed the fight. I was more concerned by Domina Agrippina who also sat, next to her two sisters, on one of the raised benches at the back. I wondered about her brother Gaius Caesar — known as Caligula or ‘Little Boots’ — until I recalled that Tiberius had decided to take him to Capri.

I was fascinated by Domina. She was only sixteen but acted as if she was twice that age. She was dressed in the usual finery: a white stola, and a brocaded shawl across her shoulders which carried a small hood that she’d pulled up over her black glossy hair. Another of Sejanus’s minions had introduced me to her. I kissed her perfumed hand and delivered the commission. She undid the purple cord, read the scroll, tossed it to lie between her feet and totally ignored me. I studied her face, with its high cheekbones, the nose just a little too long, the slight enlargement of her right cheek due to her double canine teeth, and her lower lip jutting out as if in a pout. It was the eyes which held my gaze. I couldn’t decide whether they were dark-blue or black but they were large, lustrous and full of life. She’d peered at me as if she was short-sighted, though this was only a mannerism she’d developed. Nevertheless, with those long eyelashes, it gave the impression that she was just waking from a deep, sensuous sleep. As she watched Sullienus, now and again the tip of her tongue would come out. Apart from that she sat impassive, hands clenched in her lap. Abruptly she turned and said, her voice surprisingly low, ‘Are you wondering where my husband is?’

‘Domina,’ I replied. ‘That is none of my business.’

‘Yes, it is,’ she retorted cheekily and moved slightly towards me.

I smelt her perfume, faint but aromatic, reminding me of sandalwood.

‘That is your business, isn’t it, Parmenon? Spying? Aelius Sejanus will be asking you, “At the games, where was the little bitch’s husband, Domitius Ahenobarbus”?’

She talked as if we were alone in some private chamber. Agrippina was cunning, and she’d chosen her moment carefully. Everybody else was shouting, and stamping their feet, eyes fixed on the arena, including the spy who would no doubt be spying on me to make sure that I spied on Agrippina.

‘My husband,’ she continued, eyes widening, ‘is in some brothel on the road to Ostia. He’ll no doubt be drunk with his head in a whore’s lap. He smells like a goat and he acts like one but I can’t really complain as our Divine Emperor himself chose my husband. I, however, reserve the right to choose my bed companion. Now,’ she smiled. ‘What do you think? Should Callaxtus die?’

‘Domina, he should live.’

‘I agree.’

She stretched out her hand, thumb pointing to the ceiling of the imperial box.

‘Vivat!’ she cried. ‘Vivat! Let him live! Let him live!’

Heads turned. I moved the stool, peering through the assembled notables; the generals, the senators, the priests and Vestal Virgins. I looked for Sejanus’s lean, saturnine face, his iron-grey hair combed carefully forward, his gentle smile, those wide-spaced eyes. He, too, had heard Agrippina shout. He turned, a smile on his lips, scratching the tip of his nose, and narrowing his eyes as if searching out who was shouting against the crowd. He saw Agrippina, winked and lifted his hand. I moved my stool to stare down into the arena. Sullienus had taken his helmet off. He stood sweat-soaked, sword up in salute, waiting for Sejanus’s sign. The Prefect stretched out his hand, thumb extended. I knew he was about to give Callaxtus life but at that moment the fallen gladiator did something very stupid. Whilst Sullienus’s back was turned, probably because he could no longer stand the tension, Callaxtus picked up his trident and lunged at his opponent’s exposed thigh. Sullienus was too quick — perhaps he had seen the shadow or heard a sound? — and, stepping nimbly to one side, he turned and drove his sword straight into Callaxtus’s bare throat. The crowd roared its approval. Sejanus’s hand dropped. He shrugged and got to his feet, arms extended to receive the salute, not only of the victor, but the approval of the mob. Agrippina sat and shook her head.

‘Fool!’ she whispered to me. ‘But most men are fools, aren’t they, Parmenon? They think with their balls and lack all patience.’

She turned away, joining the plaudits for Sejanus. I looked down at her feet. The scroll she’d tossed there had disappeared.

After the Games I followed her back to the Domus Livia on the Palatine. The house had once belonged to Augustus’s wife but she’d now died and been turned into a God. Well, not exactly, as her son Tiberius was reluctant to grant her the honour, but the people considered her as such. They regarded Livia as the model of chastity. I suppose they were right, for every other woman in her family had taken lovers with the same greed and gusto as a starving man snatches bread. The Domus was supposed to be a palace, but Tiberius, or rather Sejanus, had let it fall into disrepair. Steps were chipped, the paintwork was flakey, the baths were dusty and dirty, the water system cracked and there was a general shortage of money shown by the empty oil lamps, faded cushions, stained couches, and tables and chairs which rocked when you touched them.

Agrippina had a chamber on the first floor overlooking a dusty courtyard. I was invited there as soon as she returned. She lay on a couch beneath the window, leaning against the headrest, staring up at the ceiling, her sandals and shawl tossed on the floor. She tapped the side of the couch.

‘Come here, Parmenon.’

I stared. Yesterday I had been wandering the narrow lanes of Rome, and now a member of the imperial family was asking me to sit on the edge of her couch.

‘Come on!’ she urged. ‘Sit here! I won’t bite you.’ She grinned mischievously. ‘Yet!’

I took a step forward.

‘No, first open the door, quickly! See if anyone’s in the corridor outside.’

I obeyed but the gallery was empty. Dust motes danced in the pale afternoon sun which streamed through one of the high windows. I closed the door.

‘Again!’ Agrippina whispered. ‘Open the door quietly and look down! Do it quickly, quietly!’

I obeyed but still saw no one there. I closed the door and she beckoned me over. I sat on the edge of the couch and stared down at her. She looked even more beautiful: her eyes had turned a dark blue, her skin had the sheen of porcelain, her lips seemed fuller and redder. I wondered what it would be like to kiss her.

‘If Livia was still alive,’ she murmured, pulling herself up and resting on her elbow, ‘and she walked through that door, you’d be strangled and I’d be off to exile. You’re uncomfortable, aren’t you? You are almost sitting with your back to me, having to twist your neck round. Do you know who taught me that? Livia! She had a genius for making people feel uncomfortable: she taught me a lot more as well.’ She gently pushed me off the couch. ‘Kneel down.’

She sat on the edge of the couch, and I knelt on the floor before her. I could have refused, I was a free-born Roman citizen, but I was fascinated. I had never expected this to happen. Agrippina clasped her hands before her.

‘You are Parmenon,’ she began. ‘And you are related very slightly, may the Gods be thanked, to that human spider, that vile viper, the Prefect Aelius Sejanus. He’s a very, very dangerous man, Sejanus. Our Emperor’s dark shadow! A man of infinite ambition. You know he wants to be Emperor? Oh yes! He has pretensions enough. After all, if the line of Caesar can produce an emperor why not that of Sejanus?’

‘Yes, but-’ I protested.

‘But, but what?’ she mimicked. ‘Who’s in the way! Livia’s been dead two years. My father twelve!’

‘Your brothers?’

‘Drusus is in prison. He’s been lowered into a pit called the Sepulchre. Sejanus arranged that. They are going to starve him to death. And Mother? You are going to ask about my mother, aren’t you?’ she continued. ‘And my other brother Nero. Well, I’ll tell you where they are. Nero’s in Pontia and Mother’s on Pandateria, a little island. They say she’s gone mad, and they had to restrain her so forcibly she lost an eye. Can you imagine that, Parmenon? The kinswoman of Caesar Augustus, with her eye knocked out by a centurion, being force-fed by sweaty ex-gladiators, and roaming the rocks like a mountain goat?’

‘What about young Gaius?’ I replied.

‘Oh, you mean “Little Boots”. Well, he’s with the old fox in Capri. Only the Gods know what’s happening to him. Anyway!’ She moved a lock of hair away from her forehead. ‘I’ve told you enough. You can now trot back to Sejanus and report all the juicy bits.’ She clicked her fingers. ‘Go on!’

I remained kneeling.

‘Go on!’ she repeated.

‘If I do, you die!’

‘Aye, Parmenon, and so do you.’ She ruffled my hair with her fingers. ‘We are both trapped, aren’t we? You go and tell Sejanus’s minions what I have said and I’ll join my mother, or brother, on some lonely island.’ She pointed to the floor. ‘Or my other brother Drusus in the cells below. As for you, Parmenon, as time passes Sejanus will start to wonder. Why should young Agrippina open her heart to a stranger? Can this Parmenon be truly trusted?’

I strained my ears and hoped the gallery outside was empty. This remarkable young woman had trapped me.

‘Do you know why I chose to sit here, Parmenon? Because that door is thick and there are no ledges outside this window. I’ve also checked the walls and floor carefully. No spy-holes, no little apertures for the ear. So, what are you going to do, Parmenon? Choose life or death?’

‘I am. .’

‘What are you going to say, Parmenon?’ she mocked. ‘That you are only a servant, a scribe? You are only a flea on Sejanus’s table.’

‘Why are you doing this?’ I asked.

‘I don’t know. I am taking a gamble. I watched you at the amphitheatre. You don’t like bloodshed, Parmenon.’

‘I always think of my own skin.’

‘No, Parmenon, somewhere you’ve got a soul and a heart. I rather like you, you don’t act like an informer or a spy. So, let me draw you deeper into the net. We haven’t got much time. At the moment everybody’s drunk after the Games — nothing like a little blood is there, Parmenon, to whet the thirst and stir the cock — and Sejanus’s spies will be slaking themselves before they remember their duty. That’s their great mistake: blood blinds them. Such is Rome under Tiberius. Have you heard the poem, Parmenon?’ She closed her eyes.

‘“Tiberius is not thirsty for neat wine. What warms him up is a tastier cup, The blood of murdered men”.’

I shivered. Agrippina was muttering treason. Both of us could be handed over to the executioners to be strangled, our corpses tossed down the Steps of Mourning before being thrown into the Tiber.

‘He’s mad,’ Agrippina continued. ‘Tiberius is mad; either that, or possessed by a demon. Perhaps both. Do you know what my father told me, Parmenon? When Tiberius was a general, he used to study his maps in his tent the night before a battle, and suddenly the lamps around him would abruptly go out.’ She made me jump as she snapped her fingers. ‘Extinguished just like that! Tiberius always took it as a sign that his demon was nearby and he’d be lucky in the coming fight.’

‘Domina,’ I stammered. ‘You shouldn’t tell me all this.’

‘I’ll tell you more, Parmenon. Tiberius is the great Augustus’s successor but he spent most of his early manhood sulking in exile. It turned his mind. He wants to kill and kill again. My father is dead, my mother and two brothers will soon join him and, if Sejanus has his way, I and my sisters have got — ’ she coolly shrugged her shoulders ‘- perhaps a year, certainly no more than eighteen months. Go out and check the gallery again, Parmenon. Stay there for a while before coming back.’

I obeyed her command. I closed the door behind me and tried to stop trembling. Agrippina had sent me out to test me. Any sensible informant would have fled like the wind, certainly not to Sejanus but down to Ostia to beg, buy, do anything to gain passage to the western isles or beyond. My face was coated in sweat. My stomach was clenched so tightly I thought I was going to vomit. It was like being woken up from a deep sleep by a jug of cold water splashed over your face. I was no more than twenty-three years of age and so far my life had been like that of a dream-walker, an observer of what was happening around me, but feeling very little. My father killed, my mother a sickly woman who had died before her time. Friends and acquaintances were merely people I talked to, dined or slept with. In an hour all this had changed. I walked up and down the gallery drawing deep breaths. Why, I kept asking myself? Why was Agrippina telling me this? It was all true, of course. Tiberius was a sick, bitter man. The stories from Capri depicted him as a monster. One story currently doing the rounds of the taverns of Rome was that a fisherman on the island had caught an enormous mullet, and eager to please his Emperor, he towed the fish up the trackless cliffs and surprised Tiberius. The Emperor was furious at being disturbed. He ordered his guards to wash the fisherman’s face with the mullet; its scales skinned him raw and the poor fellow screamed in agony, ‘Thank the Gods I didn’t bring Caesar the huge crab I also caught.’

Tiberius sent for the crab, had it used in the same way, before his hapless victim was thrown from the cliff top. A party of marines stationed below dealt with the fisherman, as they did others sent hurtling to their death, whacking him with oars and boat hooks. The poor man’s corpse was left a bloody mess upon the rocks. In Rome the hunger for blood was no different. The prisons were full, and those detained were deprived of light, food, even conversation. Some of the accused, on being warned to appear in court, felt so sure the verdict would be guilty that, in order to avoid public disgrace, they stayed at home, took a warm bath and opened their veins. If Sejanus’s police suspected this might happen, the house was raided, the poor unfortunate’s wounds were bandaged and he was hurried off to prison. A few senators, knowing they were going to be accused in public, drank poison openly, toasting their colleagues whilst cursing Caesar’s name. Their corpses were always displayed on the Steps of Mourning, before being dragged by hooks along the muddy lanes of Rome to the Tiber. Men, women, even children were imprisoned. Sejanus often toured the prisons, where one of his victims, half-mad from the torture, begged to be put out of his misery.

‘Oh no,’ Sejanus replied. ‘We are not friends yet.’

Such thoughts heightened my anxiety, standing in that dusty gallery of the Palatine Palace. I decided to flee. I was not one of the powerful ones of Rome so why should I be troubled? I stopped and stared back at Agrippina’s room. If I returned to that chamber, I could die an excruciating death, yet Agrippina was right, for if I reported her conversation, the same fate awaited me. I heard a footfall on the stairs and stepped into a shadowy recess. A slithering, soft sound, someone taking their time, coming up slowly, stealthily. Was Agrippina playing some cruel game? I peered out and recognised Metellus. I’d been introduced to him in the imperial box at the Games. He was a balding, narrow-faced scribe, responsible for ordering stores and ensuring the kitchen was well supplied. However, he wasn’t mounting those stairs like a scribe, more like the spy he was. He came onto the gallery and tiptoed by. I held my breath. He stopped at Agrippina’s door and listened carefully. Satisfied, he withdrew and slipped back down the stairs. I made my decision, or rather Metellus had made it for me. I waited until I was sure he wouldn’t return and crept back into the chamber. Agrippina was sitting where I had left her, tapping her foot as if listening to some invisible tune.

‘Well?’ she asked, raising her head.

I was about to kneel in front of her but she tapped the couch beside me.

‘You are with me, aren’t you, Parmenon?’

I nodded. She pulled down the front of her stola, exposing her beautiful breasts, their nipples dark and enlarged. She took my hand and pressed it against her left breast, her face only a few inches from mine.

‘Swear, Parmenon, by earth, sea and sky!’

I found it difficult to speak. My throat had gone dry. It was a strange sensation, my hand clasped against that beautiful breast, her lovely lips not far from mine, juxtaposed to the silence of the room, the terrors beyond the door, Metellus waiting like some snake.

‘Swear!’ she hissed.

I took the oath, and she kissed me full on the lips, pushed my hand away and re-arranged her stola.

‘What’s the matter, Parmenon? Are you shocked?’

‘No, Domina, frightened. Metellus is slinking like a fox outside.’

‘Foxes can be trapped.’

Clearing her throat, a mannerism employed whenever she was excited, Agrippina snuggled closer.

‘Tiberius is Emperor,’ she whispered. ‘He’s mad, bad or both.’ She smoothed her face. ‘But, there again, I’m no different. We have rotten blood in our veins. Tiberius’s son was poisoned.’

I started.

‘No, be still.’ She tapped my knee. ‘The Emperor’s true son is dead and that’s the end of the matter. Tiberius, therefore, has several possible heirs: Gemellus who is weak; or one of my elder brothers. However,’ she sighed, ‘we must consider them, like my mother, as dead. That leaves me, my sisters and “Little Boots”.’

Her voice took on a mocking tone as she referred to her brother, the seventeen-year-old Caligula, who was now Tiberius’s house prisoner on Capri.

‘Tiberius,’ she continued, ‘is worrying enough. Sejanus, however, is the more pressing danger. He’s Prefect of the city and commands the Praetorian Guard. The Senate are a claque and his bosom friends command the German legions. Sejanus has spun a web in which everyone is caught up. What he’ll do next is try to get rid of Caligula, myself and my sisters before we can beget any children. We’ll soon be arrested for treason, and either exiled or imprisoned. And then we shall certainly be executed, probably sooner rather than later.’ Agrippina paused as if she had forgotten something. ‘Yes, yes, that’s how it will go. Once he’s finished with us, Sejanus will turn on Tiberius, and the Emperor will go into the dark. Sejanus will marry Tiberius’s widowed daughter-in-law and have himself proclaimed Emperor.’ She tapped her foot and cleared her throat.

‘So, what can you do? Flee Rome?’

Agrippina threw her head back and laughed. ‘Flee Rome, Parmenon? We wouldn’t get as far as the Forum.’ She pinched my arm. ‘Don’t you have any life in those veins, a heart which beats? Haven’t you heard of a blood feud? Tiberius and Sejanus have struck at my family. Now I will strike at theirs.’ She waggled a finger like an aged housewife telling her husband off. ‘Where’s the weakness in all of this, Parmenon?’

‘You’ve thought all this through, haven’t you?’ I asked.

She grinned. ‘The weakness, in fact, is Sejanus himself. Tiberius regards Sejanus as too low-born to pose any real threat. However, our Emperor, by nature, is very suspicious. At the moment he puts up with Sejanus because he once saved Tiberius’s life. They were dining out in some cave and there was a rock fall. Tiberius believes he has a debt to pay. He must now be made to realise that this debt is cleared and Sejanus is his greatest enemy.’

‘How will you do that?’

‘We must get to Capri.’

Agrippina got up, walked to the door and opened it.

‘You will arrange that, Parmenon. In the meantime, ask Metellus to come up!’

I looked up in surprise.

‘Go on!’ she urged. ‘Tell him I need him now!’

I obeyed her command and went down the gallery. I could hear shouts, doors opening and closing. The festivities after the Games were now in full swing. I slipped downstairs into the gallery below, where servants and their girls were milling about, some much the worse for drink. Metellus was sitting at a table, tapping his fingers as if mystified by what had happened.

‘Domina Agrippina will see you now!’ I declared.

‘Will she? Where has she been? Where have you been?’

‘I’ve been nowhere,’ I slurred, pretending to be tipsy. ‘You’d best go upstairs now.’

Metellus scraped back the stool and followed me up. I went along the gallery and knocked on the door. Agrippina opened it, almost dragged the fellow through, then slammed it shut in my face. I stood wondering what was to happen. I heard Agrippina laugh, the clink of cups. Was she playing some game? I tried the handle but the bolts were in place. I was walking down the gallery when I heard the screams, terrible piercing yells, so strident they quelled the clamour below. I ran back towards the door and pushed against it. From inside I could hear the clatter of noise as if a violent struggle was taking place. The alarm was being raised. Two Praetorian guards came running up, swords drawn. Burly fellows, they shoved me aside. Using the pommel of their swords, they hammered on the door, from behind which came Agrippina’s screams and yells, and the sounds of a scuffle grew more strident. Stools and benches were used to force open the door and I followed the soldiers into the room. Metellus lay sprawled on the floor before the couch, a gaping wound in his chest. Agrippina, her tunic covered in blood, knelt beside him holding a dagger. Her stola had been ripped, and she had scratch marks on her face. She pushed her hair back and stared wildly at the soldiers.

‘He tried to rape me!’ she hissed. She pointed to the goblets lying in a pool of wine in the middle of the room. ‘He was drunk.’

She caught my gaze and, for a second, I saw the smile in her eyes. She got to her feet still holding the dagger.

‘Is this the way — ’ she yelled, ‘- to treat the daughter of Germanicus? Am I some common whore to be pawed at by servants?’

Her maids appeared. Agrippina yelled obscenities, asking them where they had been. They tried to reply but Agrippina threw the dagger on the floor. She crumpled on the couch, put her face in her hands and sobbed bitterly. The soldiers, both outraged and fearful at what had happened, grabbed Metellus’s corpse and flung it through the window onto the courtyard below. I decided it was time to act as if I was the Domina’s secretarius. Water and towels were ordered. I thanked the soldiers and asked them to leave. Once they had, Agrippina got to her feet and allowed the maids to dab at the cuts on her face and hands. She seized a moment in the hustle and bustle to beckon me over.

‘Go, tell Sejanus’s minions,’ she whispered, ‘that I am of the blood imperial. I have been attacked! A lowling has tried to rape me. I demand to see the Emperor!’ She grabbed my hand and pulled me closer. ‘Use your wit, Parmenon. Act as if you were truly Sejanus’s spy. Tell the truth!’

I left immediately, threading my way through the passageways of the Palatine Palace across the parklands. Darkness was falling, and torches and lamps were being lit. I found the Minion in the same chamber in which we had first met. I suspect he already knew what had happened but when I gave him the details his face paled. He plucked at his face and sifted the parchments on the table.

‘I see. I see,’ he muttered. ‘You’d best stay here.’

An hour passed. The darkness deepened, the light from the oil lamps gutted out. At last the Minion returned.

‘His Excellency will see you now!’