Domina

Chapter 9

Mevania is a beauty spot a hundred miles north of Rome. Agrippina chose it as the gathering place for her fellow conspirators. A lovely setting to plot mayhem and bloodshed. The villa was cool with well-watered lawns, enclosed gardens, peristyle-shaded walks. It was some distance from the road, and Agrippina had it carefully guarded with all approaches watched. Despite my protests, the conspirators were invited and arrived one by one. Progeones, of course. Lepidus with his long head and shock of black dyed hair: a born conspirator with his twisted smile and bitter, cynical eyes. His weak, furrowed face mirrored unresolved grievances and spite. Then came a brilliant orator, a small, dapper man with flickering eyes and a surprisingly deep voice, dumpy legs and a chest like a barrel. I had heard him speak in the courts: he was brilliant. Agrippina planned to use him to turn the Senate.

Uncle Claudius should have arrived but failed to do so. Instead his representative Seneca made his first appearance in my life. Seneca, a Spaniard, looked every inch the Roman patrician and philosopher. He was of medium height and well built, with a strong, broad face, aquiline nose, and snow-white hair carefully combed forward. Seneca looked like a pompous Platonist except for the shrewd cast to his mouth and those deep-set eyes, which viewed the world with cynical amusement. Seneca had no doubts about the rightness of Agrippina’s cause. He reminded us all of Arrentius’s last words, only this time he recast them: ‘If life with Tiberius was bad enough, life with Caligula has been pure hell!’

Admittedly I was most uneasy. If you are going to form a conspiracy you must trust everyone involved. I knew little about these plotters. Time and again I broached the matter with Agrippina, but she acted as if she was possessed. She wasn’t so concerned about Caligula, more with the child that Caesonia was expecting. One evening, at the end of December, all was ready. The conspirators, or their leaders, gathered in Agrippina’s bedroom, a place of dark damascene cloths, jewelled cups, gold and silver statuettes, expensive furniture of oak, maple and terebinth, ivory-footed couches, stools and chairs made of tortoiseshell. Her large bed dominated the room. It was carved out of rare wood which reflected in its undulating grain a thousand different shades of colour, like that of the great peacock feathers adorning the wall above it.

Her son was not there. She had left him with trusted nurses in her house on the Via Sacre. We discussed how and when Caligula should die. Agrippina finally made a decision.

‘Rome would be too dangerous,’ she reasoned. ‘And when Caligula reaches Germany, he’ll be too well protected. I’ve invited him to visit me. We must do it here!’

‘By poison?’ Seneca asked.

Agrippina disagreed. She opened a leather bag and emptied three silver-embossed daggers out on the table.

‘It will be done publicly enough,’ she continued. ‘And I will take responsibility.’

Agrippina had assumed the role of the democrat eager to save the republic from a tyrant. She laughed as if aware of her theatricality and looked at us from under dark, arched eyebrows.

‘Who will strike the blow?’

‘I will not,’ I replied, getting to my feet. ‘Nor will I take the oath.’

‘Why not?’ Agrippina asked.

I left and walked into the coolness of the garden. The murmur of voices rose from behind me, the sound of a door being firmly closed. I was in a sulk. I hoped Agrippina would have followed me out but I was left to kick my heels.

At least an hour passed before she joined me. ‘The others claim you can’t be trusted,’ she said, sitting down beside me.

‘Well, say that I don’t trust them.’

‘What do you mean?’

Agrippina slipped her arm through mine and pulled herself closer. I smelt her delicious perfume, or was it a soap she used after bathing? Light, fragrant but still cloying to the nostrils.

‘Oh, I trust them, I suppose,’ I confessed. ‘But I don’t trust Caligula. He let you come here. He may be mad as the moon but he must suspect: someone in this villa is his spy.’

Agrippina refused to agree. Two days later Caligula arrived in a gorgeously decorated chariot pulled by four beautiful bays, their manes starred with special gems, breast-plates covered in sacred amulets. He had changed his role, now he saw himself as Charioteer of the Gods. Caligula himself stood upright like a victor about to prepare to receive the palm, helmet on his head, whip in hand, leggings of gold and red covering calf and thigh.

Of course, we all had to watch him drive up and down the gardens of the villa, creating chaos every time he turned. Lawns and flowerbeds disappeared, small, delicate walls were sent crashing under the spinning wheels. A group of Praetorians accompanied him and, of course, Castor and Pollux, his two German shadows. Caligula was frenetic with excitement. After a while he tired of the game, climbed down from the chariot, undressed in front of us and charged into the villa demanding a bath, his tunic and toga.

Agrippina entertained him late that evening. She tried to hide her own unease behind the pretence of a lavish banquet: hens made of wood containing eggs were brought in on platters, dormice rolled in honey and poppy seeds; hot sausages mixed with grilled damsons and seeds of pomegranate; wild pig, boiled carp and large jars of heavy Falernian. Caligula refused to eat unless Castor or Pollux tasted the dish first, whether it was a huge lobster, garnished with asparagus, or lampreys from the straits of Sicily. He even poked his dagger at the truffles and delicious mushrooms. After a while he threw the dagger onto the table and gazed around.

‘I’m off to Germany,’ he declared, and paused, head cocked to one side. At first I thought he was in one of his mad trances till I heard the clink of metal and the tramp of feet. I sprang to my feet, looked through a window and glimpsed pinpricks of torchlight: fresh troops were arriving. More torches appeared, and from outside came the sound of running feet. I heard a scream from the kitchen.

‘I thought I’d supply the entertainment.’

Caligula swung his feet off the couch and stared evilly at his sister. Agrippina kept her poise. I felt my arm grasped. Castor had crept, as quiet as a cat, up beside me. He grunted and gestured with his hand that I re-take my seat.

‘I’m off to Germany,’ Caligula repeated, ‘but, before I go, I must deal with traitors. Right, Progeones, tell your story!’

Our horrid little gargoyle sprang to his feet. Like an actor who has scrupulously learnt his lines, he confessed everything. Agrippina sat white-faced. Lepidus tried to rise but one of the German bodyguard thrust him down. In the darkness behind the Emperor I heard a door open and the hiss of drawn swords as more of his bodyguard arrived. Once Progeones had finished, Caligula clapped, at first softly then louder and louder.

‘That’s the first part of the entertainment!’ Seneca began to cough, spluttering over something he had eaten.

‘Don’t spoil the entertainment!’ Caligula shouted. ‘Take the old fool away!’

Seneca was hustled out.

‘Don’t kill him!’ Caligula shouted over his shoulder. ‘I want to watch our philosopher die! See if he accepts death with the same equanimity as he faced life. Lepidus.’ Caligula looked back at his guests. ‘Lepidus,’ he cooed.

The senator was seized and brought before the Emperor. Caligula swung his foot and cleared the table with his boot, sending dishes, cups and platters flying. Lepidus was forced to sit on the edge, with Castor and Pollux on either side. Caligula picked up a fork that had been used for the sucking pig. With one swift jab, he expertly dug out Lepidus’s right eye. The man screamed and tried to rise but the guards held him fast.

‘Do you see more clearly now?’ Caligula leaned forward. ‘You were married to my sister! You shared my bed! Garrotte him!’

Castor slipped the noose over Lepidus’s shaking head. He took a small tube out of his belt and expertly turned it. We all had to sit and watch whilst Lepidus died with terrible, choking gasps. Occasionally, Caligula asked the German to stop so he could give the half-dead man a stern lecture on morality. The torture continued. A full nightmarish hour passed before Lepidus’s corpse was allowed to fall slack onto the floor. His face had turned purple-black, and blood seeped from the hole where his eye had been.

Caligula raced round, shaking his fingers at the guests. He gestured with his fist at Afer the orator.

‘You should have known better! You are going to answer for your treason in the Senate!’

Others were present, bankers and merchants who had been on the fringe of the conspiracy. The guests also included some innocent neighbours from surrounding villas. Caligula showed no mercy. One by one they were taken out to the garden and despatched by the waiting soldiers. Some were decapitated — Caligula shouting that one man’s head should be pickled and brought back immediately — others were strangled, and a few shackled and bundled into a cart for transport back to Rome.

Agrippina sat throughout the horror as immobile as a statue. Caligula turned on me and clicked his tongue, imitating Sejanus.

‘I’ll deal with you personally, Parmenon.’

He rose, gave Lepidus’s corpse a vicious kick and led me out through the colonnades into the garden. That place of beautiful serenity had been transformed into a flesher’s yard. Corpses lay about. A decapitated head had rolled to rest behind a seat. Pools of sticky blood glistened in the moonlight. Caligula ignored all this as, hand on my shoulder, he went across to sniff at a rosebud.

‘Beautiful,’ he murmured, closing his eyes. ‘Such smells always takes me back to Capri and the old goat. Well, well, Parmenon, what a pretty mess, eh? What shall it be for you? Crucifixion? The garrotte? Or shall I stick your head on a pike?’

His face was solemn till he burst out laughing and punched me playfully in the stomach.

‘I’m only joking,’ he declared. ‘You knew my spy was Progeones, didn’t you?’

I nodded.

‘And if he hadn’t told me, you would have, wouldn’t you?’

‘Yes,’ I lied.

‘I can’t kill you, Parmenon. You’re my lucky mascot. But what — ’ his face turned ugly ‘- am I to do with that bitch of a sister?’

‘Your Excellency.’ I swallowed hard to prepare the biggest lie in my life. ‘Your Excellency, it’s true she’s a dangerous bitch but. . she is your sister and that of Drusilla.’

‘True, true.’ Caligula sat down on a garden wall and dropped his lower lip. ‘By the way, where’s that slut Julia? She’s involved as well, isn’t she?’

‘Of course, your Excellency.’

‘Now what were you saying about Agrippina?’

‘She’s a dangerous bitch, your Excellency, and she’s also a blackmailer. She claims to have documents proving you are not Germanicus’s son. If she dies,’ I continued coolly, ‘these are to be released to the Senate.’

Oh, it was a terrible gamble. Caligula was mad. He could have either exploded into rage or returned to the behaviour which had kept him safe on Capri. I wasn’t disappointed. He positively cringed, fingers going to his mouth. I suspect Tiberius had often taunted him with the same jibe. He gnawed furiously at his nails.

‘The filthy bitch!’ he murmured. ‘Is this true, Parmenon? I can have you tortured.’

‘Torture me, Excellency, your lucky mascot. I tell the truth, you know I do. I think Tiberius told her. He had proof, didn’t he? Some filth dug up by Sejanus?’

Caligula was not listening. He turned, speaking to that mysterious invisible presence beside him: a litany of curses and filthy epithets about Agrippina, his own mother, Tiberius and Sejanus.

He paused. ‘What do you suggest, Parmenon?’

‘Be careful, Excellency.’ I knelt down on the ground before him. ‘You are both Emperor and a God. Death is too quick. Separate her from her beloved son.’

Caligula gave a great sigh.

‘Kill him instead, you mean?’

‘No, no,’ I hastened to add. ‘Give her son to someone she hates.’

‘I’ll do that. And the bitch?’

‘Exile her. Not too far away so she’ll know what goes on in Rome.’

Caligula agreed. ‘I’ll have to talk to the Gods about this. But come, come, Parmenon, the punishment must be more than that.’

‘Have her depicted as Lepidus’s lover,’ I continued.

‘Good!’ Caligula held his hand up. ‘That’s very good, Parmenon. I also want the names of all the other traitors involved in this plot, and something else.’ He glared round at the corpse. ‘When Mother returned to Rome she brought the ashes of my father,’ — he emphasized the words, — ‘my father Germanicus, into Rome. Well, she can do the same.’ He bawled for the captain of his guard. ‘Take Lepidus’s corpse!’ he ordered. ‘Have it burnt. I want the ashes poured into the cheapest vase you can find.’

The man hurried away and returned dragging Lepidus’s corpse by the heels. Some of his companions brought out items of furniture and a makeshift funeral pyre was made, before it was drenched in oil and Lepidus’s corpse tossed onto it. Caligula watched until the cadaver caught light.

‘I can’t stand the smell of burning flesh!’ he pouted. ‘It always makes me sick, whilst the sound of bubbling fat. . Ugh!’ He wafted a hand in front of his nose. ‘Well, I’ll go and look at the other prisoners.’

He walked away, then whirled round.

‘Oh, Parmenon, I haven’t forgotten you. You must follow your mistress into Rome and then join her in exile. You’ll be allowed to return to the city three, no, four times a year, so the bitch can get all the news.’

Off he strode. To my right Lepidus’s body was now engulfed in flames, black billowing smoke and a filthy stench. From the villa came the sound of screams and crashing, as Caligula’s bodyguards helped themselves to the slave girls. I hurried back inside to find Agrippina still sat on the couch, white-faced, tense but ready for death. I told her quickly what I had said to Caligula. She listened hollow-eyed.

‘Where there’s life,’ she whispered. ‘There’s hope.’

She stroked my cheek and then, if I hadn’t caught her, would have crashed into a dead faint onto the floor.

Five days later Agrippina, bare-footed, dust strewn on her hair and clothed in a simple tunic, walked into Rome bearing a chipped urn containing Lepidus’s ashes. She accepted her fate philosophically, more concerned about being deprived of her beloved Nero than any public humiliation. I was forced to walk behind, carrying a cushion bearing the three daggers Agrippina had bought for Caligula’s murder. Praetorian guards forced a way through the jostling crowds assembled on the streets. I was aware of shouts, of strange pungent smells; spice, sulphur, the foul odours from the cesspits and sewers. The black ravens, flocking to the graveyards to pluck at those corpses not properly buried, seemed everywhere. A fire had been lit and its smoke billowed about. The slums disgorged their inhabitants who were only too eager to watch the spectacle of one of the great ones who’d fallen lower than themselves.

Yet there was no jeering, no catcalls, no abuse. People recalled Agrippina’s father, how her mother had brought his ashes back to Rome in a similar but more honourable procession. The senators, the knights and the merchants were also wise enough to know that fortune’s fickle wheel can be spun at the touch of a hand. Today Agrippina was in disgrace but tomorrow. . who knows? Moreover, Caligula was hated and feared. Here was a woman who had dared to confront him. There was grudging respect and admiration. Indeed, by the time we had left the winding, narrow streets onto the Via Sacre leading to the Palatine, the atmosphere had imperceptibly changed. At the time I was only aware of that cushion which seemed to weigh as much as a rock, of the sweat pouring down me and of the tall, elegant figure of Agrippina, walking in front. She carried the urn with her head held high, gaze fixed before her, looking neither to the right nor the left. We climbed the Palatine hill, on which flowers and grass were strewn as if to protect her naked feet. The commander of Caligula’s bodyguard, a Thracian, realising that this was not the disgrace Caligula had intended, urged her to move faster. If anything, Agrippina walked slower.

We reached the Forum. The intended humiliation had turned into a farce, with the Emperor the butt of the joke rather than Agrippina. The ashes were summarily snatched from her hand, the daggers taken off me as an offering to the Gods, and we were bundled away to some warehouse in the palace grounds. Once the door was closed behind us, Agrippina sat down, face in hands, and cried. I crouched beside her and put my arm round her shoulders.

‘There’s no need for tears,’ I comforted. ‘There’s no need.’

She took her hands away and glanced at me. She wasn’t crying, she’d been laughing. She clutched my hand and squeezed it.

‘Tomorrow’s another day, Parmenon,’ she whispered. ‘I made a mistake, didn’t I?’

I seized the opportunity to remind her of my warnings.

‘I made one mistake,’ she interrupted. ‘Every one in that conspiracy had something to lose and all to gain, except for Progeones. I shall not make that mistake again.’

We stayed in prison for a week. Caligula swept back into Rome. Seneca, surprisingly, wasn’t punished. Someone had apparently informed Caligula that Seneca was going to die anyway, so the philosopher suffered no disgrace. The orator Afer was summoned before the Senate where Caligula delivered a fiery speech against him. Afer took his place on the rostrum and loudly proclaimed that he had no answer as he was more frightened of Caligula as an orator than he was of him as an Emperor. Caligula, the mad fool, was delighted and Afer was pardoned.

Agrippina heard all this; she sat clutching her hands in her lap. ‘You’ll forgive me, won’t you, Parmenon?’

‘For what, Domina?’

‘I always thought there was more than one spy, and I wondered if the second one was you. Now I know that it must have been either Seneca or Afer.’ She shrugged. ‘Anyway, I would have lost my head if it hadn’t been for your blackmail threat.’

The guards returned that evening. Under the cover of darkness, Agrippina and I were bundled onto a cart and taken secretly out of Rome to a warship at Ostia. It took a full day’s sailing before we reached the island of Pontia, seventy miles off the coast of Naples. It was a pleasant enough place with woods and fields, a beautiful villa on the promontory and a small theatre nearby. The commander of the guard delivered Caligula’s message.

‘Remind my sister,’ he had said, ‘that I have daggers as well as islands.’

Agrippina heeded the advice. She behaved herself. The greatest punishment was the absence of her beloved son who had been given into the care of Domitia Lepida, one of Caligula’s favourite great aunts. If fortune’s wheel was spun again, that was one woman marked down for destruction. Agrippina kept herself busy. She took up the study of botany, birds and wild life, and used the kiln to make pottery. She organised a set routine every day: we would rise early in the morning, and she would run down to the beach to swim and then return for a light meal. She would eagerly seek out any news from the mainland, write letters which were never sent and go out into the fields to collect specimens. If the weather turned harsh, she’d stay inside and work the kiln. She proved to have skilful hands and taught me how to paint the pots. Never once did she openly discuss Rome, Caligula or her son. Since most of the slaves and servants were spies, what conversations we did have took place at the dead of night when Agrippina was certain there was no one around.

I could have become her lover. Sometimes we shared more than a jug of wine, and would sit, hand in hand, or embrace.

One night I did grow amorous but she starkly pointed to a cobweb. ‘Did you know, Parmenon, that the female spider eats her mate?’

She drew away. ‘People like you, Parmenon, should have nothing to do with the likes of me. I have the same blood as Caligula. Everyone we touch dies violently. The Furies nest close to us.’

I heeded the warning. As the months passed, Agrippina was allowed more visitors and messengers from Rome, but they were only spies attempting to provoke some admission or treasonable remarks. They did bring news of her brother and his mad antics, hoping to provoke her.

Caligula had decided to launch an all-out war against the Germans. Eager to emulate his own father’s triumphs, he assembled an enormous force of some quarter of a million troops, with a huge convoy of military equipment and food. The Emperor himself, however, travelled with a retinue of gladiators, actors and women. When he reached the Rhine he downgraded certain commanders and executed others on the grounds that they had conspired with his sister against him. Caligula then decided that he was the embodiment of Mars, but could find no one to fight him so he arranged for his German bodyguards to sneak across the Rhine and hide in the forest. One day, as the Emperor was finishing lunch, his scouts told him that the enemy were gathering. His bodyguard, pretending to be the enemy, launched a fictitious ambush. Caligula had them captured and brought back in chains. In honour of his triumph, Caligula had all the surrounding trees shorn of their branches and decorated the stumps with trophies. When the news reached Rome, the Senate pretended that Caesar had won a great triumph, and poor Uncle Claudius was sent north to congratulate the victorious Emperor. Caligula was furious that such a clumsy messenger had been sent and had his uncle pitched into the Rhine for his pains.

Eager for a fresh triumph, Caligula marched the army into Gaul, having decided to invade Britain. He assembled his forces along the sea coast in full battle order. Catapults and other engines of war were all primed. Caligula took to sea in a trireme, travelled a short distance and then returned to shore. He ordered the trumpeters to sound the charge. Caligula rode along the beach, instructing his soldiers to attack the sea and use their helmets and shields to pick up shells as plunder and spoils of their great victory against the God Neptune.

After this nonsense, he marched back to Rome. On the way he stopped at Lyons where he auctioned off all of Agrippina’s property and possessions. He also organised a contest in Greek and Latin oratory in which the losers were forced to present the prizes to the winners as well as erase their own contributions, some with a sponge and the worst with their tongues. If they didn’t like this they were given a choice of being beaten with rods or thrown into the nearby river.

Caligula continued his march on Rome, his carts full of seashells. He added a few captives and deserters from Gaul, making them grow their hair long and dyed. These unfortunates were taught a little German and were given barbarian names. Caligula was eager for his Triumph: the Senate and people of Rome had no choice but to accept this farcical turn of events.

Agrippina bore the loss of her property and possessions with equanimity. She listened to such news, nodded and then returned to her flower collection.

One visitor, however, brought secret messages. Cassius Chaerea, a tribune from the Praetorian Guard, had been sent by Caligula to search the island and ensure that Agrippina was observing the terms of her exile. I’ve never met a soldier who looked more like a woman. Agrippina conceded he was better looking than her: tall and graceful with a long, slim, olive face and dark expressive eyes. My mistress said he had lips and eyelashes which any girl would envy. Nevertheless, Cassius was a seasoned soldier and, from the beginning, it was obvious that his heart was not in his task. Agrippina studied him for a few days then summoned me to our usual meeting place on the cliff top.

‘Cassius has brought me news from Rome. The Emperor’s madness is now the talk on everyone’s lips.’

‘And your son?’ I asked, trying to hide my jealousy. ‘You persuaded Chaerea to talk about your son?’

Agrippina smiled and whistled under her breath. ‘Are you jealous, Parmenon?’

‘You dress your hair,’ I replied. ‘You put paint on your face and bathe your body in perfume. You wear the most elegant robes and always arrange for Cassius to sit near you when we eat. You are not trying to seduce him, are you?’

‘Oh, I’ve already done that,’ Agrippina murmured. ‘Last night.’

I recalled Agrippina leaving the evening meal early, complaining she felt unwell, the usual sign that she wished to be left alone. Chaerea had retired an hour later.

‘I didn’t think you’d be so stupid!’ I retorted.

‘What’s Cassius going to say?’ Agrippina snapped. ‘That he dared seduce the Emperor’s disgraced sister? I know every mark on that beautiful body. More importantly, I have found a man who hates Caligula even more than I do. Do you think the army liked that stupid spectacle on the coast, escorting carts back into Rome full of seashells?’

‘That doesn’t make Chaerea a traitor,’ I replied.

‘Oh, Parmenon, think back to last night and the other times we’ve talked with Cassius. Every time I mention Caligula he blushes slightly. I discovered why: Caligula calls Cassius a girl. One of Chaerea’s tasks is to ask the Emperor every day for the personal password.’ Agrippina bit back her laughter. ‘Caligula teases him with replies such as “Vagina”, “Penis” or “Kiss Me Quick”. Can you imagine the roars of laughter which greet this? Cassius also tells me that others hate Caligula just as much as he.’ She tapped me on the hand. ‘Now, for practical news. My husband Domitius has done us all a favour by dying of dropsy. I won’t be a hypocrite — I didn’t give his life a passing thought, so why should I mourn his death?’

‘And your son?’ I demanded.

‘A bouncing boy with red curls. He’s already ordering about the other children in the nursery.’

‘And?’ I demanded. ‘There is something else?’

‘Cassius has brought a pass. You can return to Rome for the winter. I think Caligula wants to find out how his sister is faring. When Cassius leaves, you are to go with him.’

‘To plot, be caught and executed!’ I exclaimed.

‘No, listen.’

Agrippina gripped my wrist, a sign that she was going to impart something important. It always made me shiver, reminding me how Charicles used to take Tiberius’s pulse.

‘Caligula will die,’ Agrippina insisted. ‘And who is there left? Those doddering fools in the Senate may try and restore the Republic but the army won’t allow that.’

‘Your Uncle Claudius?’ I replied.

‘Precisely.’ Agrippina squeezed my wrist even tighter. ‘If Caligula dies suddenly, there’ll be confusion. You and Cassius must ensure that Claudius is hailed as Emperor. He’ll bring me back to Rome.’

Agrippina dropped my wrist. ‘Whatever happens, Parmenon, you must ensure that, somehow, Claudius is brought forward. Naturally, in the chaos following Caligula’s death, my son must be closely protected.’ She got to her feet and pulled me up. ‘By the way, I know you’ve got too tender a heart so Cassius will do this for me — ensure that Caligula’s wife Caesonia and her little brat don’t survive any longer than he does. Now, come! I am sure Cassius is already pining for me and we’ve got preparations to make.’