The Secret of the Kingdom

Book IV

Claudia

It is wonderful to be eighteen when one has risen to the rank of tribune, feels loved by the whole world and can read faultlessly one’s first work to a knowledgeable audience. It was as if Rome, like myself, were experiencing her most wonderful spring; as if her poisoned air had been cleansed when the noble, elegant Agrippina had succeeded the youthful Messalina as Claudius’ wife.

Living a gay life was no longer fashionable. Morals had become purer, for it was said that Agrippina, whenever Claudius was capable of it, sent for the rolls of both knights and senators and ruthlessly struck off the names of all those who were known for their immoral way of life or were guilty in other ways. Claudius, as usual, saw to his office of Censor, sighing heavily at his duties but gratefully accepting suggestions from a good and politically experienced woman.

Thanks to her, Claudius also attempted to pull himself together. His freedmen, especially his secretary Narcissus and treasurer, Procurator Pallas, were once again in his good graces. Pallas, exhausted by the demands of his office, was forced to consult with the indefatigable Agrippina for nights on end.

When I myself met Agrippina again, I thought she had acquired a new gentleness and beauty. She took the trouble to take me with her to the school at Palatine, summoning Vespasian’s son Titus to her and caressing her stepson, Britannicus, gently on the head. Britannicus seemed sullen and withdrawn for his nine years, but that was not surprising, as he missed his beautiful mother a great deal and not even the most loving attentions from a stepmother could compensate. When we left, Agrippina told me that Britannicus, to the sorrow of his father, suffered from epilepsy and so could not do physical exercises. The boy was especially affected at full moon and needed careful watching.

Even more enthusiastically, Agrippina took me to a sunny part of

Palatine to see her own family, the handsome, dashing Lucius Domitius, and introduce me to his tutor. One of the first of Agrippina’s actions after coming to power had been to summon Annaeus Seneca back from exile and ask him to take charge of her son’s education. Seneca’s stay in Corsica had obviously done him good and also cured his tuberculosis, whatever he may have said about his exile in his letters. He was about forty-five, a plump man, who greeted me in a friendly way. I saw from his soft red boots that he had also been made a senator.

Lucius Domitius surprised me by rushing up and kissing me as if he were meeting a longlost friend. He held my hand and sat beside me, asking about my experiences in Britain and marveling that the Noble Order of Knights at the temple of Castor and Pollux had confirmed my rank of tribune so soon.

Confused by all this graciousness, I took the liberty of mentioning my little book and humbly requesting Seneca to read it, largely to improve the writing of it before I read it in public. Seneca kindly agreed to do this and I visited the Palace several times as a result. In his honest opinion, my presentation lacked fluency, but he admitted that there was a place for a dry and factual style as I was mostly describing the geography and history of the Britons, their tribal customs, religious beliefs and their way of waging war. Lucius liked to read my book aloud to show me how one should read. He had an unusually fine voice and such an ability to become absorbed in a subject that I too became absorbed, as if my book were exceptionally remarkable.

“If you were to read it,” I said, “then my future would be assured.”

In the refined atmosphere of the Palace I felt I had had enough of the dreary life of camps and the crude habits of the legion. I was delighted to become Lucius’ pupil when he wished to teach me the pleasing gestures suited to an author reading out his work. On his advice, I went to the theater and often accompanied him on his walks in the Lucullus gardens on the Pincian hill which his mother had inherited from Messalina. Lucius used to run along, chattering away, but always paying attention to his movements. He might suddenly stop, as if in deep thought, and make such profound remarks that it was hard to believe he was so young that his voice had not yet broken. One could not help liking him, if he wished to please. And it was as if he needed to please everyone he met after his joyless childhood, even slaves. Seneca had taught him that slaves were also human beings, just as my father had taught me in Antioch.

It was as if this same atmosphere had spread from Palatine over the whole of Rome. Even Tullia received me in a friendly manner and did not try to stop me seeing my father when I wanted to. She dressed carefully now, as befitted the wife of a Roman senator with legal rights of a mother of three children, and she wore far fewer jewels than before.

My father took me by surprise. He was much thinner and less breathless and moody than before I had gone to Britain. Tullia had bought him a Greek physician educated in Alexandria whom my father had, of course, soon freed. The physician had ordered baths and massage for him, persuaded him to drink less and do ball exercises for a short time every day, so that now he wore his purple band with considerable dignity. His reputation for wealth and good humor had spread throughout Rome, so that groups of clients and people seeking help crowded into his hall every morning. He helped many people, but he refused to recommend anyone for citizenship, although as a senator he had a right to.

But it is about Claudia I must relate, however reluctantly and guiltily I went to see her. Outwardly she had not changed a bit. Nevertheless, I seemed at first to be looking at a stranger. She gave me a delighted smile to begin with and then her mouth narrowed and her eyes darkened.

“I’ve had bad dreams about you,” she said. “I see they were true. You are not the same as before, Minutus.”

“How could I be the same,” I cried, “after spending two years in Britain, writing a book, killing barbarians and earning my red plumes? You live in the country as if on a duck pond. You can’t expect the same of me.”

But Claudia looked in my eyes and raised her hand to touch my cheek.

“You know perfectly well what I mean, Minutus,” she said. “But I was stupid to have expected you to keep a promise which no man could keep.”

I should have been wiser if I had been angry at her words, broken off with her there and then and gone my way. It is much easier to be angry when one is in the wrong. But instead, when I saw her deep disappointment I took her in my arms, kissed her and caressed her, and was seized by the need to tell at least one person in the world about Lugunda and my experiences.

We sat by her spring on a stone bench under her old tree and I told her about how Lugunda had come into my life, how I had taught her to read and how useful she had been on my journeys among the Britons. Then I began to falter a little and look down at the ground. Claudia seized me by the arm with both hands and shook me, telling me to go on. So I told her what my self-respect allowed me to, but in the end I did not have the courage to tell her that Lugunda had borne me a son. In the vanity of my youth, however, I boasted of my manhood and Lugunda’s virginity.

To my surprise, Claudia was most hurt by the fact that Lugunda was a hare-priestess.

“I’m tired of the birds flying from Vatican,” she said. “I no longer believe in omens. The gods of Rome have become to me just statues with no power and I’m not surprised that in a foreign country you were bewitched, you with your lack of experience. But if you honestly regret your sins, then I can show you a new way. People need more than magic, omens and stone statues. While you were away, I’ve experienced things I’d never have believed possible.”

Unsuspecting, I asked her to tell me about it, but my heart sank when I realized her uncle’s wife, Paulina, had begun to use her as an intermediary between her and her friends, thus involving Claudia much more deeply in the infamous machinations of the Christians.

“They have the power to cure the sick and forgive us our sins,” Claudia said fervently. “A slave or the poorest of tradesmen is equal to the wealthiest and most important person at their holy meals. We greet each other with a kiss as a sign of our mutual love. When the spirit comes to the congregation, they are seized with holy ecstasy so that simple people begin to speak foreign languages and the faces of the holy glow in the darkness.”

I looked at her with the same horror as one regards a very sick person, but Claudia seized both my hands in hers.

“Don’t condemn them until you’ve got to know them,” she said. “Yesterday was Saturn’s day and the Jewish Sabbath. Today is the Christians’ holy day because it was the day after the Sabbath that their king rose from the dead. But the heavens may open any day and he will return to earth and found the kingdom of a thousand years in which the last will be first and the first last.”

Claudia was frighteningly beautiful, like a seer, as she spoke. I can only believe that there really was some irresistible force speaking through her, paralyzing my will and dulling my mind, for when she said, “Come, let’s go and see them at once,” I rose helplessly and went with her. Thinking I was afraid, she assured me that I would not have to do anything I did not want to do, only watch and listen. I justified my actions to myself by saying that I had reason to learn something about these new beliefs in Rome, as I had also tried to learn about the Druids in Britain.

When we reached the Jewish part of the city, Transtiberia, it was in a state of alarm and unrest. We were met by running, screaming women and people were fighting at street corners with fists, sticks and stones. Even worthy gray-haired Jews in tasseled cloaks were involved and the City Prefect’s police did not seem to be in control. As soon as they had managed to disperse some of the fights with their batons, another broke out in the next alleyway.

“What in the name of all the gods of Rome is going on here?” I asked a breathless policeman who was wiping blood from his forehead.

“Someone called Christus is stirring up the Jews against each other,” he explained. “As you see, rabble from all over the city have come here. You’d better take your girl another way. They’ve sent for the Praetorians. There’ll soon be more bloody noses than mine here.”

Claudia looked excitedly about her and let out a cry of pleasure.

“Yesterday the Jews hunted everyone who recognizes Jesus out of the synagogues and beat them,” she said. “Now the Christians are retaliating. They’ve got help from Christians who aren’t Jews.”

In the narrow alleys there were in fact groups of tough-looking slaves, smiths, and loaders from the shores of the Tiber who were smashing the closed shutters of the shops and forcing their way inside. Pitiful cries came from within, but the Jews are fearless fighters when they are fighting for their invisible god. They gathered in groups in front of the synagogues and fended off all attacks. I did not see any weapons used, but then neither the Jews nor any of the other people who had flooded in from all directions into Rome were allowed them.

Here and there we saw a few middle-aged men who were standing with their arms raised, crying out, “Peace, peace, in the name of Jesus Christ.”

They managed to calm down some people to the extent of getting them to lower their sticks and drop their stones, and slip off to join in another fight. But the more dignified Jews became so furious that they stood in front of Julius Caesar’s beautiful synagogue and tore their beards and clothes, calling out aloud about blasphemy.

It was as much as I could do to protect Claudia and try to prevent her from becoming involved in the fighting, for she stubbornly strug-gird on toward the house where her friends were to perform their mysteries that evening. When we reached it, an excited group of ardent Jewish believers were dragging out and knocking down those who had hidden themselves inside. They tore apart people’s bundles, emptied their baskets of food, and trampled everything into the dirt, hitting out as one hits out at one’s neighbor’s pigs. Anyone attempting to flee was knocked down and kicked in the face.

I do not know how it came about. Perhaps I was seized by the natural desire of a Roman for law and order, or perhaps I tried to defend the weaker ones from the attackers’ violence, or perhaps it was Claudia who egged me on to partake, but suddenly I noticed that I was pulling a huge Jew’s beard and twisting a stick from his hand with a wrestler’s hold as he in his religious fervor was about to kick a girl he had knocked to the ground. Then I found myself fighting in all seriousness, and indubitably on the side of the Christians. Claudia urged me on, in the name of Jesus of Nazareth, to catch all Jews who did not recognize him as the savior.

I came to my senses when Claudia pulled me into the house and I hurriedly let go of a bloodstained stick I had picked up somewhere, realizing to my horror what the consequences would be if I were arrested for becoming involved in Jewish religious riots. I had not only my rank of tribune to lose, but also the narrow red band on my tunic. Claudia led me down to a large dry cellar room where Christian Jews were all shouting at once, quarreling over who had started the rioting, and weeping women were bandaging wounds and putting ointment on bruises. From the room upstairs, several old, men came down, shaking with fear, together with a couple of men who from their clothes did not appear to be Jews. As confused as I was, they were presumably wondering how they could get themselves out of this dilemma.

With them came a man whom I did not recognize as the tentmaker Aquila until he had wiped the blood and dirt from his face. He had been severely ill-treated, for the Jews had rolled him in a sewer and broken his nose. Despite this, he passionately called for order.

“Traitors, all of you!” he cried. “I daren’t call you my brothers any longer. Is freedom in Christ just something for you to vent your anger with? You have been beaten for your sins. Where is your endurance? We must submit and stop those who spit on us with good deeds.”

There were many protests.

“It’s no longer a question of the heathens among whom we live learning to praise God when they see our good deeds,” they cried. “Now it’s

Jews fighting us and abusing our Lord Jesus. It’s for him and to his glory we resist the evil ones, not just to defend our miserable lives.”

I pushed forward to Aquila, shook his arm and tried to whisper to him that I must get away. But when he recognized me, his face cleared in delight and he blessed me.

“Minutus, son of Marcus Manilianus!” he cried. “Have you too chosen the only way?”

He embraced me, kissed my lips and fervently began to preach.

“Christ has suffered for you too,” he said. “Why don’t you model yourself on him and follow in his footsteps? He did not abuse his abusers. He threatened no one. Don’t take revenge by evil for evil. If you suffer for Christ, then praise God for it.”

I cannot repeat all that poured out of him, for he took no notice of my protests, but his fervor undoubtedly had a powerful effect on the others. Nearly all of them began to pray for the forgiveness of their sins, though some muttered through clenched teeth that the kingdom would never bear fruit if the Jews were freely allowed to slander, oppress and ill-treat the subjects of Christ.

While this was going on, the police outside were arresting people regardless of whether they were faithful Jews or Christian Jews, or anyone else. As the Praetorians were guarding the bridges, many people fled in boats and took the opportunity to unfasten other boats at the quays so that they began to drift away in the current. The city was left unprotected, all the police having been sent to the Jewish quarter. Crowds began to collect in the streets, shouting the name Christus as a password they had learned on the other side of the river.

They plundered shops and set fire to several houses, so that when the Jewish quarter was quiet again, the City Prefect had to order his men to return to the city proper. This saved me, for they had just begun a house-to-house search in the Jewish quarter.

Evening had come, I was sitting gloomily on the floor with my head in my hands, realizing I was very hungry. The Christians gathered up the remaining food and began to share it among all those present. They had bread and oil, onions, pease porridge and wine. Aquila blessed the bread and wine, in the Christian way, as the flesh and blood of Jesus of Nazareth. I accepted what was offered me and shared my bread with Claudia. I was given a little cheese too and a piece of dried meat. I drank wine from the same goblet as the others when my turn came. When everyone had eaten their fill, they kissed each other gently.

“Oh, Minutus,” said Claudia after she had kissed me. “I am so glad you have eaten of his flesh and drunk of his blood, to be forgiven your sins and lead an eternal life. Can’t you feel the spirit glowing in your heart, as if you had discarded the tattered clothes of your earlier life and put on new ones?”

I said bitterly that the only glow I felt was from the cheap sour wine. Not until then did I fully realize what she had meant and see that I had taken part in the secret meal of the Christians. I was so appalled that I wanted to be sick, although I knew I had not drunk blood from the goblet.

“Nonsense,” I said furiously. “Bread is bread and wine is wine when one is hungry. If nothing worse than this happens amongst you, then I don’t see why such lunatic stories are told about your superstitions. Still less do I understand how such innocent activities can lead to such violence.”

I was too tired to quarrel with her, aroused as she still was, but in the end she made me agree to look more closely into the Christian teachings. I could see nothing wrong in their attempts to defend themselves against the Jews. But I was fairly sure they would be punished if the disorders continued, whether they or the faithful Jews were responsible.

Aquila admitted that there had been trouble earlier, but not to the same extent as now. He assured me that the Christians usually met without attracting attention and also answered evil words with good. But the Christian Jews also had a legal right to go into the synagogues and listen to the scripts and to speak there. Many of them had taken part in the raising of the new synagogues.

I took Claudia home through the warm summer night, past Vatican and out of the city. We saw the glare of fires and heard the murmur of the crowd across the river. Wagons and carts loaded with foodstuffs on their way to the market halls were waiting, crowded together on the road. The country people wondered anxiously what was happening in the city. It was whispered from man to man that one Christus was rousing the Jews to murder and arson. No one seemed to have a good word to say for the Jews.

As we walked, I began to limp and my head ached. I was surprised that I had hitherto not felt any ill-effects from the injuries I had received in the fighting. When we eventually arrived at Claudia’s hut, I was feeling so wretched that she would not let me return, but begged me to stay the night. In spite of my protests, she put me to bed in her own bed by the light of an oil lamp, but then sighed so much as she busied herself around the room that I had to ask her what was wrong.

“I’m neither pure nor without sin,” she said. “But every word you told me about that shameless Briton girl has fallen like drops of fire on my heart, although I can’t even remember her name.”

“Try to forgive me that I could not keep my promise,” I said.

“What do I care about your promise?” wailed Claudia. “I’m cursing myself. I am the flesh of my mother’s flesh and the profligate Claudius is my father. I can’t help it if I am deeply disturbed to see you lying in my bed.”

But her hands were as cold as ice when she clasped mine in them. Her lips too were cold when she bent down and kissed me.

“Oh, Minutus,” she whispered. “I haven’t had the courage to confess to you before that my cousin Gaius violated me when I was only a child. It amused him sometimes to sleep in turn with his sisters. That is why I’ve hated all men. You’re the only one I haven’t hated, because you accepted me as a friend without knowing who I was.”

What more need I say? To console her, I drew her into bed with me and she trembled with cold and shame. And neither can I justify my action by saying she was older than I, for I must admit I became more and more ardent until she came to me, laughing and crying, and I realized that I loved her.

When we woke in the morning, we both felt so happy that we did not want to think about anything but ourselves. Radiating happiness, Claudia was beautiful in my eyes despite her coarse features and thick eyebrows. Lugunda became a distant shadow. Claudia was a mature woman in comparison to that immature, capricious girl.

We exchanged no promises and did not even wish to think of the future yet. If I were oppressed by a vague feeling of guilt, I comforted myself with the thought that Claudia knew very well what she was going. At least she had something else to think about besides the superstitious mysteries of the Christians. I was pleased about that.

When I returned home, Aunt Laelia commented acidly on the anxiety she had felt when I had been out all night without telling her about it beforehand. She looked at me carefully with her red-rimmed eyes and said reproachfully, “Your face is as radiant as if you were brooding on some shameful secret. As long as you haven’t strayed into some Syrian brothel.”

She sniffed my clothes suspiciously. “No,” she went on, “you don’t smell of a brothel. But you must have spent the night somewhere. Now don’t go and get yourself involved in some sordid love affair. That will lead to nothing but trouble for both you and for others.”

My friend Lucius Pollio, whose father had become Consul that year, nunc to see me in the afternoon. He was very disturbed by the rioting.

“The Jews are getting more and more insolent under the protection of their privileges,” he said. “The City Prefect has been interrogating arrested people all morning and has definite evidence that it is a Jew called Christus who is rousing the slaves and the mob. He’s not an ex-gladiator, as Spartacus was, but a traitor who was condemned in Jerusalem but in some way came to life after being crucified. The Prefect has ordered his arrest and has put a price on his head. But I’m afraid the man has already fled the city now that his rebellion has not succeeded.”

I was greatly tempted to explain to the learned Lucius that by Christus the Jews meant the Messiah they believed in, but I could not reveal that I knew too much about this seditious teaching of theirs. We went through the manuscript of my book once again to make the writing as clear as possible. Lucius Pollio promised to find a publisher if the book passed the acid test which public reading constitutes. According to him, the work might do quite well. Claudius would be glad to be reminded of his own successful campaign in Britain. One could flatter him by showing an interest in the affairs of Britain, and in this respect my book should prove excellent, according to Pollio.

The differences of opinion over the ownership of synagogues which had originally given rise to the rioting amongst the Jews were settled by the City Prefect, who proclaimed that all those who had contributed to the raising of them should have the right to use them. The strict Jews and the more liberal Jews had their own synagogues. But when the Jews who recognized Christ took over a synagogue, the other Jews removed the valuable scrolls and preferred to set fire to the synagogue rather than let the hated Christians take it over. From this, new troubles arose. In the end, the faithful Jews made a great political blunder by appealing to the Emperor.

Claudius was already angered by the riots which were disturbing the happiness of his new marriage. He became even angrier when the Jews dared to remind him that he would not now be Emperor but for their support. It was in fact true that Claudius’ drinking companion, Herod Agrippa, had borrowed from the rich Jews of Rome the money needed to bribe the Praetorians after the murder of Gaius Caligula. But Claudius had had to repay exorbitant interest on the money and for other reasons did not want to be reminded of this incident which had wounded his vanity.

His drunkard’s head began to shake with rage. Stammering more than usual, he ordered the Jews to leave and threatened to banish them all from Rome if he ever heard of any more disturbances.

The Christian Jews and the mob which had joined them had their own leaders too. To my astonishment, I met at my father’s and Tullia’s house the argumentative Aquila, his wife Prisca, and a few other respectable citizens whose only fault was that they had leanings toward the Christian mysteries. I had gone to see my father to talk about Claudia. I was now visiting her twice a week and staying overnight with her. I felt strongly that something should be done about it all, though Claudia had made no direct demands.

When I surprised my father and disturbed the meeting, he told me to wait a moment and then went on talking.

“I know more than a little about the king of the Jews,” he was saying, “for after his crucifixion, I was in Galilee and was myself convinced that he had risen from his tomb. His disciples did reject me, but I can confirm that he in no way roused the people in the manner that is happening here in Rome.”

I had heard all this before and could not think why my father in his old age kept repeating the same old story. But Aquila tried to explain.

“Whatever we do,” he said, “we are everyone’s stumbling block. We are hated more than the idol-worshipers. We can’t even maintain mutual love and humility among ourselves, for everyone thinks he knows best. The ones who are most enthusiastic to spread the word are those who have just found the way and acknowledged Christus.”

“Anyhow, they are saying that he himself threw fire over the earth and separated man from wife and put children against their parents,” said Prisca. “And that’s just what’s happening here in Rome, although we mean well. How love and humility can bear fruit in quarrels, disunity, hatred, spite and envy, I cannot imagine.”

As I listened to them, I was filled with righteous anger.

“What do you want of my father?” I cried. “Why do you torment him so that he has to wrangle with you? My father is a kindly, good-natured man. I won’t allow you to involve him in your idiotic quarrels.”

My father straightened up.

“Be quiet, Minutus,” he said. Then he looked far back into the past and finally spoke again.

“These matters can usually be cleared up by discussing them,” he said, “but this matter is becoming more involved the more it is discussed. But as you have asked my advice, then I would suggest this. Ask for a respite. In Emperor Gaius’ time, the Jews in Antioch benefited greatly from this advice.”

They stared at my father without understanding what he meant.

“Separate from the Jews,” he said, smiling absently, “leave the synagogue, stop paying the temple taxes. Build your own meeting-houses if you want to. There are rich people among your followers. Perhaps you can collect large gifts from men and women who think they can buy peace of mind by supporting different gods. Don’t annoy the Jews. Keep silent when you are insulted. Keep your distance, as I do, and try not to hurt anyone.”

“These are hard words,” they all said at once. “We must bear witness to our king and proclaim his kingdom. Otherwise we are not worthy of him.”

My father spread out his hands and sighed heavily.

“His kingdom is a long time coming,” he said, “but undoubtedly it is you who share his spirit and not I. Do as you wish. If the matter comes before the Senate, I shall try to put in a good word for you. But if you’ll permit it, then I’ll not mention the kingdom. That would only make you politically suspect.”

They were content with this and left just in time, for Tullia met them in the arcade on her return from her round of visits, and she was not pleased.

“Oh, Marcus,” she said. “How many times do I have to warn you against receiving these questionable Jews? I’ve nothing against your going to listen to philosophers. If it amuses you, you can help the poor, send your physician to the sick and give dowries to parentless girls. But, by all the gods, keep away from the Jews, for your own sake.”

Then she turned her attention to me, complained about my bad shoes, the careless folds in my mantle and my badly cut hair.

“You’re not among crude soldiers anymore,” she snapped. “You should take more care of your appearance for your father’s sake. I’ll have to send you a barber and valet, I suppose. Aunt Laelia is too old-fashioned and shortsighted to notice any longer.”

I replied sullenly that I already had a barber, for I did not want to have any of her slaves dogging my every footstep. It was true that on my birthday I had bought and freed a slave for whom I had felt sorry and I had helped him to set up on his own in Subura. He was already doing quite well, selling women’s wigs and the usual procuring. I explained too that Aunt Laelia would be deeply offended if a strange slave came to see to my clothes.

“Anyhow, one has more trouble than joy from slaves,” I said.

Tullia remarked that it was entirely a matter of discipline.

“But,” she said, “what do you really want to do with your life, Minutus? I’ve heard you spend your nights in brothels and neglect your studies with your rhetoric tutor. If you really want to read out your book this winter then you must keep your undisciplined body in check and work hard. It’s high time you made a suitable marriage.”

I explained that I wanted to make the most of my youth, within limits, and that at least I had not landed myself in trouble with the authorities for drunkenness and other things young knights were known for.

“I am looking around,” I said. “I take part in the riding exercises. I listen with the audience in the Praetorium if there is anything interesting. I read books. Seneca the philosopher has shown kindness to me. Naturally I am thinking of applying for a quaestor’s office sometime, but I’m still too young and inexperienced for that, even if I could get special permission.”

Tullia looked at me pityingly.

“You must realize that what is most important for your future is getting to know the right people,” she explained. “I’ve arranged invitations for you to good families, but they tell me you are sulky and silent and won’t meet friendship with friendship.”

“My dear stepmother,” I said, “I respect your judgment in every way. But everything I have seen and heard in Rome tells me to avoid binding myself to people who at the moment are considered the right people. Two hundred or so knights, not to mention a number of senators, were executed or committed suicide only a year or two ago, simply because at the time they were the right people or knew the right people only too well.”

“Thanks to Agrippina, all that’s changed now,” protested Tullia with perhaps too much eagerness. But my words gave her something to think about.

“The wisest thing you could do,” she suggested after a while, “would be to devote your time to the races and join one of the color parties. That’s a completely nonpolitical interest but will still lead to useful connections. You like horses.”

“One can have enough of horses,” I said.

“Horses are less dangerous than women,” said Tullia maliciously.

My father looked at her thoughtfully and said that for once she was light.

“It would only attract unnecessary attention,” she said vindictively, “if you set up your own team at once, presuming your father can afford it. I know it’s only a matter of time now before we can let the fields grow again as pasture land. Growing corn in Italy will not pay once the harbor in Ostia is completed. But you’d hardly make a good horse breeder. Be content with betting on the races.”

But my days were full enough without the circus. I had my own old house in Aventine, Barbus to look after, Aunt Laelia to appease, and I also had to defend my Gallic freedman when his neighbor accused him of causing an offensive smell with his soap making. It was a relatively simple matter defending him in court, for the tanneries and dye works caused far worse smells. But it was more difficult to meet the statement that the use of soap instead of pumice was weakening and against the will of our forefathers. The neighbor’s lawyer tried to have the manufacture of soap banned in Rome by appealing to the forefathers of our forefathers all the way back to Romulus, all of whom had been content to scour themselves with the health-giving and hardening pumice.

In my speech for the defence, I praised Rome as an Empire and world power.

“Romulus did not burn eastern incense before his idols,” I cried proudly. “Our stern forefathers did not have caviar brought from the other side of the Black Sea, or foreign birds from the Steppes, or flamingos’ tongues or Indian fish. Rome is the melting pot of many peoples and customs. Rome chooses the best of everything and ennobles alien customs so that they become her own.”

So the use of soap was not banned in Rome and my freedman improved his soap by blending perfume with it and giving it beautiful names. We made a small fortune from Genuine Cleopatra Soap, although it was made in a back street in Subura. I must also admit that his best customers, apart from Roman women, were Greeks and people from the East who lived in Rome. The use of soap in public baths was still considered immoral.

I had much to do, but nevertheless it happened that at night, just before falling asleep, I often wondered about the meaning of life. Sometimes I was pleased with my little successes and sometimes I was depressed because it all seemed so meaningless to me. Chance and fortune ruled over one’s existence, and death was sooner or later the hopeless lot of every person. I was, of course, both happy and lucky, but every time I achieved something, my pleasure became clouded and I was discontented with myself again.

At last the day I had so eagerly prepared for arrived. I was to read my book in the lecture hall in the Imperial Library on Palatine. Through my friend Lucius Domitius, Emperor Claudius himself sent a message to say that he would be present in the afternoon. As a result, everyone who sought the Emperor’s favor competed for a place in the hall.

In the audience were some officers who had served in Britain, members of the Senate committee on British matters, and Aulus Plautius himself. But some people had to remain outside the doors, and complained to Claudius that there was no room for them despite their enormous interest in the subject.

I began my reading early in the morning, and regardless of my understandable excitement I read without faltering and was myself kindled by my own reading, as is every author who has taken great pains to polish his work. Nothing disturbed me, either, except Lucius Domitius’ whisperings and gestures as he tried to indicate how I should read. A far too sumptuous meal was brought, which Tullia had arranged and my father paid for. When I continued afterwards about the religious customs of the Britons, many people were nodding, although I thought this the most interesting part of the book.

Then I was forced to break off when Claudius arrived as he had promised. He had Agrippina with him and they sat down on the bench of honor and invited Lucius Domitius to sit between them. The lecture hall was suddenly crammed full, but to those who complained Claudius said firmly, “If the book is worth hearing, it can be read again. Make sure you are there then. But go away now. Otherwise the rest of us won’t be able to breathe.”

Actually, the Emperor was slightly drunk and often belched loudly. I had not read more than a few lines when he interrupted me.

“I’ve a bad memory,” he said. “So allow me, as first citizen, due to my rank and age, to tell you where you are right and where you are wrong.”

He began to give his own long-winded interpretation of the Druids’ human sacrifices and said that in Britain he had sought in vain for the large plaited wicker baskets in which prisoners were placed before being burned alive.

“Of course, I believe what reliable eyewitnesses tell me,” he said. “But I rely most on my own eyes and so I can’t swallow your statement whole. But please go on, young Lausus.”

I had not read much further when he again interrupted with something he had seen in Britain and considered it necessary to discuss. The audience’s peals of laughter confused me somewhat, but Claudius had some knowledgeable remarks to make about my book.

Finally, in the middle of it all, he and Aulus Plautius became engrossed in a lively discussion on the details of the Emperor’s campaign. The public encouraged them by calling out “Hear, hear,” and I was forced to stop reading. Only Seneca’s calming influence made me suppress my irritation.

Senator Ostorius, who seemed an authority on all matters British, joined in the discussion. He maintained that the Emperor had committed a political blunder by breaking olf the campaign without suppressing the Britons.

“Suppressing the Britons is easier said than done,” snapped Claudius, justifiably affronted. “Show him your scars, Aulus. That reminds me that everything in Britain is in arrears because I’ve not had the time to appoint a Procurator to succeed Aulus Plautius. There’s always you, Ostorius. I don’t think I’m the only person here who is tired of hearing how you know best about everything. Go home and prepare for your journey. Narcissus will write out your letters of authority today.”

I think my book had already shown the audience that it was no easy task civilizing the Britons. Everyone laughed, and after Ostorius had humbly left the hall, I was allowed to finish my reading in peace.

Claudius kindly allowed me to continue by the light of lamps as it had been he who had interrupted me and caused the delay. When Claudius began to applaud, the whole audience burst into loud clapping. No more corrections to my book were forthcoming, for it was already late and everyone was hungry.

Some of those who had been listening came back with us to my father’s house, where Tullia had arranged a banquet, for her cook was famed all over Rome. My book was not talked about much more there. Seneca introduced me to his own publisher, a fine old man, pale, bowed and shortsighted from so much reading, who offered to publish my book in an edition of five hundred in the first instance.

“I’m sure you can afford to publish your book yourself,” he said kindly. “But the name of a well-known publisher increases the sale of a book. My freedmen have a hundred experienced scribeslaves who on one dictation can copy any book swiftly and without many mistakes.”

Seneca had praised this man, who had not abandoned him even when Seneca had been in exile but had faithfully supplied the bookshops with the many writings he had sent to Rome from Corsica.

“Naturally I earn most from translations and revisions of love stories and travel books from the Greek. But not one of Seneca’s works has yet made a loss.”

I understood the implication and said that naturally I should be glad to pay my share of the cost of producing the book. It was indeed a great honor for me that he set his respected name as a seal on the quality of my book. Then I had to leave him and speak to some of the other guests. There were so many that I was quite confused; I also drank far too much wine. Finally I was filled with despair when I realized that none of those present in fact cared about me or my future. My book to them was only an excuse to eat rare dishes and drink the best wine of Campania, study and criticize each other, and secretly marvel at my father’s success, for which he, in their eyes, had no personal qualifications.

I longed for Claudia, who, I thought, was the only person in the world who really understood me or cared for me. She had naturally not dared come to my reading, but I knew with what excitement she was waiting to hear about it, and I suspected that she had not had much sleep. No doubt she would be outside her hut, looking at the stars in the winter sky and staring toward Rome as the vegetable carts rumbled along and the cattle lowed in the distant silence of the night. I had become so used to these sounds during the nights with her that I loved them. The very thought of rattling cartwheels brought Claudia to life so clearly in my mind that my body began to tremble.

There is no more depressing scene than the end of a large party, when the torches smolder and reek in the arcades, the last guests are helped by their slaves into their litters, the lamps are extinguished, spilled wine wiped up from the glossy mosaic floors and the vomit washed from the marble walls of the water closets. Tullia was of course delighted with the success of her party and talked excitedly with my father about this and that guest and what he or she had said or done. But I felt quite outside it all.

Had I been more experienced, I should have realized that this was due to the after-effects of the wine, but young as I was, I did not. So not even the company of my father tempted me when he and Tullia refreshed themselves with some light wine and fresh marine fruit while die slaves and servants cleared up the great rooms. I thanked them and left alone, without thought for the dangers of Rome at night, only longing for Claudia.

Her hut was warm and her bed smelled sweetly of wool. She filled the brazier so that I should not be cold. At first she said she had not expected me after such a grand party and the success of my book. But she had tears in her eyes when she whispered, “Oh, Minutus, now I know that you really love me.”

After a long spell of joy and a brief period of sleep, the winter morning crept into the hut. There was no sun and the gray winter felt like an ache in the soul as, pale and tired, we looked at each other again.

“Claudia,” I said, “what will happen to you and me? With you I seem to be beyond reality, as if in an alien world beneath the stars. I am happy only with you. But it cannot go on like this.”

I suppose I was secretly hoping she would hurriedly reply that things were best as they were and we could go on as before, for we could hardly do otherwise. But Claudia let out a great sigh of relief.

“I love you more than ever, Minutus,” she cried, “because you have brought up this delicate subject yourself. Of course things cannot go on as they are. As a man, you can’t possibly understand with what awful fear I await every monthly change. Neither is it worthy of a true woman to do nothing but wait until you feel like visiting me. In this way, my life is nothing but fear and agonizing waiting.”

Her words hurt me deeply.

“You’ve managed to hide those feelings very well,” I remarked harshly. “Up to now you’ve let me believe that you are happy simply that I come to you. But have you any suggestions?”

She gripped both my hands hard and looked straight into my eyes.

“There’s only one possibility, Minutus,” she said. “Let’s leave Rome. Abandon your career. Somewhere in the provinces or on the other side of the sea, we could live together without fear until Claudius is dead.”

I could not meet her eyes and drew my hands away from hers. Claudia shuddered and looked down.

“You said you enjoyed holding the lambs while I sheared them,” she said, “and fetching wood for the fire. You praised the water from my spring and said that my simple food was better than ambrosia in heaven. We could find the same happiness in any corner of the world, as long as it is far enough away from Rome.”

I thought for a moment and then said seriously, “I neither deny nor take back my words. But such a decision is too far-reaching to be decided on the spur of the moment. We can’t just go into voluntary exile.”

Out of sheer malice, I added: “And what about the kingdom you’re waiting for and the secret meals you partake in?”

Claudia looked downcast.

“I am still committing a sin with you,” she said, “and with them I no longer feel the same glow as I used to. It is as if they could see right through me and were grieving over me. So I’ve begun to avoid them. My guilt feels all the worse each time we meet. You’ll take away both my faith and my hope if everything goes on as before.”

When I returned to Aventine it was with a feeling that I had had a bucket of water thrown over me. I knew I had behaved unjusdy by using Claudia for pleasure without even giving her any money. But I thought that marriage was much too high a price to pay for mere sexual satisfaction, and neither did I want to leave Rome when I remembered how I had longed for it as a boy in Antioch and as a man in the winters of Britain.

The result was that I went to see Claudia less and less often and found all kinds of other things to do, until the unrest in my body once again drove me back to her. After this we were no longer happy together except in bed. Otherwise we constantly tormented each other until once again I left her in a fury.

The following spring, Claudius banished the Jews from Rome, for not a day had gone past without fighting breaking out, so that the disunity among the Jews caused unrest throughout the city. In Alexandria, the Jews and Greeks competed at killing each other and in Jerusalem, Jewish firebrands caused so many disturbances that finally Claudius tired of them all.

His influential freedmen were in complete agreement with his decision for they could now sell special permits for high prices to the richest Jews who wished to escape exile. Claudius did not even submit his decision to the Senate, although there were many Jews who had lived in Rome for several generations and attained citizenship. The Emperor considered that a written edict was sufficient, since he was not robbing anyone of the right to citizenship. A rumor had also gone around that the Jews had bribed too many senators.

Thus the houses on the other side of the Tiber were abandoned and the synagogues were closed. Many Jews who did not have the money hid in different parts of Rome where the district superintendents in the city had much trouble finding them. The City Prefect’s police even arrested people in the open street and forced them to show their organ to see whether they were circumcised.

Some were discovered in the public conveniences, for Roman citizens in general had no great love for the Jews, and even the slaves bore them a grudge. The captured Jews were sent to work on the harbor in Ostia or in the mines in Sardinia, which of course was a great waste because they were mostly skilled tradesmen. But Claudius was merciless.

Hatred among the Jews themselves grew even stronger as they quarreled over who had been the cause of the banishment. Along the roads outside Rome, many dead Jews were found, whether Christian or faithful it was impossible to tell. A dead Jew was a dead Jew and the road guards did not bother much about these troublemakers as long as the murder did not take place under their noses. “The only good Jew is a dead Jew,” they joked to each other as, in the interests of order, they looked to see whether the mutilated body they had found was circumcised.

The uncircumcised Christians were sorely grieved over the scattering of their leaders and they followed them for long distances to protect them from attack. They were ignorant and poor people, many of them slaves, and the disappointments in their lives had made them bitter. In the confusion that followed the banishing of the Christian Jews, they were like a flock without a shepherd.

They clung to each other in a touching way and met for their humble meals. But amongst themselves, one preached one thing and another another so that they soon separated into squabbling groups. The older ones stubbornly held to what they had heard with their own ears about the life and teaching of Jesus of Nazareth, but others were inclined to offer other versions.

The boldest of them tested their powers by working themselves into a state of ecstasy and practicing the healing laying-on of hands. But they did not always succeed. Simon the magician was not banished, whether because he had bought his freedom or because, as a Samaritan, he was not regarded as a Jew, I do not know.

But Aunt Laelia told me that he still cured the sick with the divine powers within him. I thought he contented himself with those he had power over. I had no desire to see him again, but he attracted followers from among the wealthy and curious Christian women who believed in him more than in those who preached humility and a simple way of life, mutual love and the return to earth of the son of their god on a cloud from heaven. Strengthened by this, Simon the magician began to test his flying once more and used to disappear suddenly out of his followers’ sight, only to appear again somewhere else.

I had some trouble with Barbus, too, for sometimes he neglected his duties as doorkeeper and vanished to some unknown place. Aunt Laelia, frightened of thieves, demantled that I reprimand him.

“I am a citizen like other people,” he protested, “and give my basket of corn to the house when there’s a distribution. You know I don’t bother much about the gods. I’ve been content to make sacrifices to Hercules occasionally when in real need, but with old age creeping on, one has to put one’s house in order. Several firemen and other old soldiers have got me to join a secret society, thanks to which I shall never die.”

“The underworld is a gloomy place,” I said. “The shades will have to make do with licking the blood around the sacrificial altars. Wouldn’t it be wiser to submit to your fate and be content with the shades and ashes when your life-span is over?”

But Barbus shook his head.

“I’ve no right to reveal the initiates’ secrets,” he said, “but I can tell you that the new god’s name is Mithras. He was born out of a mountain. Shepherds found him and bowed down before him. Then he killed the great bull and brought all that is good to the world. He has promised immortality to all his initiates who have been baptized in blood. If I’ve got it right, I’ll get new limbs after death and go to fine barracks where the duties are light and the wine and honey always plentiful.”

“Barbus,” I said warningly, “I thought you’d had enough experience now not to believe such old wives’ tales. You should take a cure at a spa. I’m afraid your constant drinking is making you see things.”

But Barbus raised his trembling hands with dignity.

“No, no,” he said, “when the words are spoken and the light from his crown shines in the darkness and the holy bell begins to ring, then one trembles deep down in one’s stomach, one’s hair stands on end and even the most skeptical is convinced of his divinity. After that we eat a holy meal, usually ox meat if an old centurion has undergone blood baptism. When we have drunk wine, we all sing together.”

“We live in strange times,” I said. “Aunt Laelia is saved with the help of a Samaritan magician, my own father worries about the Christians, and you, old warrior, have become involved in Eastern mysteries.”

“In the East the sun rises,” Barbus went on. “In one way this bull-killer is also the Sun God and so the God of Horses too. But they don’t look down on an old infantryman like me, and there’s nothing to stop you learning about our god as long as you promise to keep quiet about it. In our circle there are both older and younger Roman knights who have grown tired of the usual sacrifices and idols.”

I had at that time grown tired of races and betting, the life of pleasure with vain and conceited actors from the theater, and of Pollio and his friends’ interminable talk of philosophy and the new poetry. I promised to go with Barbus to one of the meetings of his secret god. Barbus was very pleased and proud about this. To my surprise, on that day he really did fast and wash himself thoroughly. He did not even dare drink any wine and he put on clean clothes, too.

That evening he led me along the winding stinking alleys to an underground temple in the valley between Esquiline and Coelius. When we had gone downstairs into a dimly lit room with stone walls, we were received by a Mithraic priest with a lion’s head across his shoulders, who unquestioningly allowed me to take part in the mysteries.

“We have nothing to be ashamed of,” he explained. “We demand cleanliness, honesty and manliness from those who follow our god Mithras for peace in their souls and a good life the other side of death. Your face is clean and your stance upright, so I think you will like our god. But please do not talk about him unnecessarily to outsiders.”

In the room was a crowd of men both old and young. Among them I recognized to my astonishment several tribunes and centurions from the Praetorian Guard. Several were veterans and war invalids. All were dressed in clean clothes and wore the sacred Mithraic insignia of rank, according to the degree of initiation they had reached. In this respect, their army rank or personal wealth seemed to make no difference. Barbus explained that if an irreproachable veteran were initiated with blood baptism, then it was the wealthier initiates who paid for the ox. He himself was content with the raven degree, for he had not led an entirely blameless life and did not always remember to keep to the truth.

The light was so dim in the underground room that one could not distinguish many faces. But I could see an altar and on it an image of a god with a crown on his head, killing a bull. Then silence fell. The eldest in the congregation began to intone sacred texts which he knew by heart. They were in Latin and I could understand nearly all of them. I learned that according to their teachings, a constant battle between light and darkness, good and evil, was being waged in the world. Finally the last light was extinguished, I heard a secretive splash of water and a silvery bell began to ring. Many people sighed heavily and Barbus squeezed my arm hard. Lights from hidden apertures in the walls slowly began to illuminate the crown and image of Mithras.

I ought not to reveal any more about the mysteries, but I was convinced by the Mithras worshippers’ solemn piety and the trust in their life to come. After the victory of light and the forces of good, the torches in the room were lit and a modest meal brought in. The people seemed relaxed, their faces radiating joy, and they conversed together with friendliness, regardless of rank and degree of initiation. The food consisted of tough ox meat and the cheap sour wine of military camps.

From their pious songs and their talk, I had the impression that they were all honest if also simple men who were righteously striving to live a blameless life. Most of them were widowers or unmarried and found consolation and security in this victorious Sun God and in the companionship of their equals. At least they had no fear of magic and respected no other omens than their own.

I thought that they could only be of use and help to Barbus. But the Mithraic ceremonies did not appeal to me. Perhaps I felt much too civilized and young among all those serious-minded grown men. At the end of the meal, they did in fact begin to tell stories, but they were the same stories one can hear without any ceremonies around any campfire throughout the Roman Empire.

But my mind was often still in turmoil. At such moments I took my wooden goblet from my locked chest, caressed it and thought about my Greek mother, whom I had never known. Then I drank a little wine from the goblet to the memory of my mother and was at the same time a little ashamed of my own superstition. I did in fact feel my mother’s good and gentle presence. But I could never have told anyone about this habit.

I also began to torment myself with unsparing riding exercises, for I seemed to feel greater satisfaction from controlling a difficult horse and exhausting my body, than spending a tearful night with Claudia. Thus I escaped both a guilty conscience and interminable self-reproaches.

Young Lucius Domitius still excelled on the riding field, but his greatest ambition was to ride beautifully on a well-schooled horse. He was chosen as the best of the youths in the Order, and to please Agrippina, we other members of the Noble Order of Knights agreed to have a new gold piece struck in his honor. Only a year had elapsed before Emperor Claudius had adopted him.

On the one side of the coin, we impressed his clear-cut boy’s profile and around the portrait his new adoptive names: To Nero Claudius Drusus, and in memory of his maternal grandfather, Claudius’ brother, Germanicus. The inscription on the other side ran: The Noble Order of Knights rejoices in their leader. In fact it was Agrippina who paid for it and it was distributed as a souvenir gift in all the provinces, but was of course legal currency, as were all the gold pieces struck in the temple of Juno Moneta.

Naturally Agrippina could well afford this little political demonstration to her son’s advantage. From her second husband, Passesnus Crisus, who was only briefly stepfather to Lucius Domitius, she had inherited a fortune of two hundred million sesterces and knew how to increase it by her position as wife of the Emperor and close friend of the Procurator of the State Treasury.

The name Germanicus had older traditions and was grander than Britannicus, whom we did not like because of his epilepsy and his allergy to horses. Many stories circulated about his real descent, since Emperor Gaius had so suddenly and unexpectedly married the fifteen-year-old Messalina to the decrepit Claudius.

As one of Lucius’ friends, I was invited to the adoption feast and the sacrificial ceremonies connected with it. The whole of Rome recognized that Lucius Domitius had earned his new position by his noble descent as well as his own brilliant and pleasing nature. From this time on we called him only Nero. His adoptive names had been chosen by Claudius in memory of his own father, younger brother to Emperor Tiberius.

Lucius Domitius, or Nero, was the most versatile and talented of all the young men I knew, and was both physically and spiritually more precocious than his contemporaries. He liked wresding and defeated them all, although he was so much admired th‹at no one seriously tried to defeat him, to avoid hurting his feelings. Nero could still burst into tears if his mother or Seneca reproached him too severely. He was taught by the best teachers in Rome and Seneca was his oratory tutor. I had nothing against my young friend Nero, although I noticed he could lie both skillfully and plausibly if he had done something Seneca considered wrong. But all boys do that, and no one could be angry with Nero for long.

Agrippina saw to it that Nero was allowed to take part in Claudius’ official banquets and sit at the end of his couch as near as Britannicus. In this way, both the nobles of Rome and envoys from the provinces became acquainted with Nero and had the opportunity to compare the two boys, the cheerful and delightful Nero and the sullen Britannicus.

Agrippina invited the sons of the most noble families in Rome to meals with both the boys. Nero acted as host and Seneca led the conversation, in that he gave the subject to each one of them to speak on. I suspect he gave Nero his subject beforehand and helped him with his speech, for every time Nero excelled with his easy, beautiful oratory.

I was often invited to these meals, for at least half of the guests had already received their man-togas, and Nero seemed genuinely to like me. But I grew tired of listening to speakers constantly peppering their speeches with worn-out verses from Virgil and Horace or quotations from Greek poets. So I began to prepare for the invitations by reading Seneca’s works and learning by heart his favorite pieces on keeping one’s temper, the brevity of life and the imperturbable calm of the wise man in the vicissitudes of fate.

Since meeting Seneca, I had come to hold him in great esteem, for there was nothing on this earth upon which he could not give a sensible, mild and considered opinion in his well-schooled voice. But I wanted to see if the wise man’s imperturbability also withstood man’s natural conceit.

Of course Seneca saw through me. He was not stupid, but it must have pleased him to hear his own thoughts quoted alongside those of the authorities of the past. I was also cunning enough never to mention his name in my quotations, since that would have been rather too crude flattery, but I just said, “The other day I read somewhere,” or “I’ll always remember a word… “

Puberty to Nero was sheer torment, and then he received his man-toga when he was fourteen. He carried out the sacrifice to Jupiter like a man, neither breaking down nor repeating himself as he read the sacrificial litany. The liver showed nothing but good omens. He summoned back Rome’s youth and the Senate agreed unanimously, without the slightest protest, that he should receive the rank of Consul when he was twenty, and thus as Consul, the right to a seat in the Senate.

At this point an envoy arrived from the famous island of philosophers, Rhodes, to apply for the reinstatement of freedom and self-government to the island. I do not know if Claudius had become more favorably inclined toward the people of Rhodes, but Seneca considered that it was the most favorable moment for Nero to make his maiden speech in the Curia. With Seneca’s help, Nero secretly prepared for it with great care.

My father told me that he had been astounded when Nero, after the envoy’s speech and a few sarcastic remarks from the Senate, shyly rose to his feet and said: “Honored fathers.” Everyone came awake. When Claudius nodded his consent, Nero moved to the oratory platform and enthusiastically outlined the history of Rhodes, the island’s famous philosophers and the great Romans who had completed their education there.

“Has not this rose-colored isle of wise men, scientists, poets and orators already suffered enough from her blunders? Is she not entided to her praise?”… and so on.

When he had finished, they all looked at Claudius as if he were a criminal, for it was he who had robbed this noble island of her freedom. Claudius felt guilty and Nero’s eloquence had moved him.

“Don’t stare at me like cows at a gate, my fathers,” he said sourly. “Make a decision. You’re supposed to be the Senate of Rome.”

The vote was taken and Nero’s proposal received nearly five hundred votes. My father said that what he had liked best was Nero’s modesty. In reply to all the congratulations, Nero merely said, “Don’t praise me, praise my tutor.” He went up to Seneca and embraced him in full view of everyone.

Seneca smiled and said, so that everyone could hear, “Not even the best tutor can make a good orator of an untalented pupil.”

Nevertheless, the elders among the senators did not like Seneca, for he lived like a man of the world and, according to them, had watered down the strict old Stoicism in his writings; They also said he was much too inclined to have handsome boys as his pupils. But this was not entirely Seneca’s fault. Nero hated ugliness to the extent that a deformed face or a disfiguring birthmark took away his appetite. Anyhow, Seneca never made any advances to me, and he would not let the all-too-affectionate Nero kiss his teachers.

After his appointment as Praetor, Seneca was mostly concerned with civil cases which in themselves were more difficult and involved than criminal cases, since they were concerned with property, ownership, building plots, divorces and wills. He himself said he could not bring himself to condemn anyone to flogging or execution. He noticed that I faithfully listened in on all his cases and one day made a suggestion to me.

“You are a talented young man, Minutus Lausus,” he said. “You are as fluent in Greek as you are in Latin and show an interest in legal matters, as befits a true Roman. Would you consider becoming an assistant Praetor and, for instance, digging out old precedents and forgotten decrees in the tabularium under my supervision?”

I flushed with pleasure and assured him that such a task would be a great honor. Seneca’s face clouded over.

“You realize, I suppose,” he remarked, “that most young men would give an eye to have such an opportunity to get ahead of his rivals in the line of office?”

Of course I realized this and I assured him I was eternally grateful for such an incomparable favor. Seneca shook his head.

“You know,” he said, “by Rome’s standards, I am not a rich man. At the moment I am building myself a house. When it is finished, I hope to marry and put an end to all this talk. I presume you administer your estate yourself and could pay me some compensation for my legal tuition?”

I drew in my breath sharply and asked him to forgive my lack of perception. When I asked him what sum he would consider adequate, he smiled and patted my shoulder.

“Perhaps,” he said, “it would be best if you consulted your wealthy father, Marcus Mezentius, on the matter.”

I went straight to my father and asked him whether, for instance, ten gold pieces would be too large a sum for a philosopher who loved modesty and a simple life. My father burst out laughing.

“I know Seneca’s modest little habits,” he said. “Leave it all to me and don’t worry about it anymore.”

Later I heard that he had sent Seneca a thousand gold pieces, or a hundred thousand sesterces, which in my opinion was an enormous sum. But Seneca was not offended but, if possible, he treated me even more kindly than before, to show that he had forgiven my father for his upstart’s extravagance.

I worked for several months as Seneca’s assistant in the Praetorium. He was absolutely just in his decisions, all of which he carefully weighed. No lawyer could bamboozle him with mere eloquence, for he himself was the greatest orator of the day. In spite of this, people who lost their cases spread rumors that he accepted bribes. Of course, such rumors were heard about all praetors. But Seneca said definitely that he had never received a gift before a judgment had been made.

“On the other hand,” he said, “if it is a matter of ownership of a plot which is worth a million sesterces, it’s only natural that the winner of the case afterwards should give the judge a gift or two. No official can live on a praetor’s salary alone and pay for free performances at the theater during his term of office.”

Spring had come again. Under the influence of the green grass, the warm sun and the notes of the cittern, the stilted legal phrases were banished from our thoughts by the lighthearted verses of Ovid and Propertius. I had been waiting for an opportunity to solve the problem of Claudia and it occurred to me that Agrippina was the only person who could do this with magnanimity and justice. I could not tell Aunt Laelia about Claudia, or Tullia-her least of all. One lovely afternoon when the clouds over Rome shone with gold, the opportunity arose when Nero took me to the gardens on Pincius. There we found his mother busy giving instructions to the gardeners for the spring. She was flushed with the warmth and her face lit up, as always, when she saw her handsome son.

“What’s wrong with you, Minutus Manilianus?” she said to me. “You look as if you had some secret sorrow. Your eyes are restless and you won’t look me straight in the eye.”

I was forced to look into her eyes, which were as clear and wise as those of a goddess.

“Would you really permit me to put my problem to you?” I stammered.

She led me to one side, away from the gardeners and the slaves grubbing in the earth, and asked me to speak honestly and without fear. I told her about Claudia, but my first words made her start, although the expression on her calm face did not change.

“Plautia Urgulanilla’s reputation was always doubtful,” she said thoughtfully. “In my youth I knew her, although I wish now that I hadn’t. How is it possible that you came to know a girl like that? As far as I know, she is not allowed to set foot inside the city walls. Isn’t she a goatherd somewhere on Aulus Plautius’ farm?”

I told her how we had met, but as I went on, Agrippina kept interrupting me with questions-as she said, to get to the root of the matter.

“We love each other,” I managed to say at last, “and I’d like to marry her if a way to do so can be found.”

“Minutus,” protested Agrippina shortly, “one just does not marry girls like that.”

I tried to the best of my ability to praise Claudia’s good points, but Agrippina hardly listened to me. With tears in her eyes, she stared at the blood-red sunset over Rome, as if she had been upset by what I had said. Finally, she interrupted me and said, “Have you slept with her? Tell me honestly now.”

I had to tell the truth. I even made the mistake of telling her we were happy together, although this was no longer quite true because of our quarrels. I asked if there was any possibility of a good family adopting Claudia.

“Oh, my poor Minutus,” she said pityingly, “what have you become involved in? In the whole of Rome, there isn’t a single respected family who would adopt her for all the money in the world. If a family were willing to let her bear its name, it would simply show that that family is no longer respected.”

I tried again, carefully choosing my words, but Agrippina was adamant.

“On this point, it is my duty as the protector of the Noble Order of Knights to think of what is best for you and not just of this poor wanton girl,” she said. “You’ve no real idea of her reputation. I don’t want to go into the matter further, as you in your blindness would hardly believe me. But I promise to consider the matter.”

I explained in some confusion that she had misunderstood the whole matter. Claudia was neither wanton nor depraved. If that had been the case, I should never have dreamed of marrying her. Agrippina did at least show great patience with me. By asking me about everything we had done together, Claudia and I, she taught me the difference between virtue and depravity in bed, and made me realize that Claudia was obviously much more experienced than I in these matters.

“The god Augustus himself exiled Ovid, whose immoral book tried to show that love was an art,” Agrippina explained. “Surely you don’t doubt his judgment. That kind of game belongs to the brothels. That’s proved by your not being able to look into my eyes without blushing.”

Anyhow, I felt as if a great weight had been lifted from my shoulders when I had left the matter with Agrippina to deal with. I happily hurried out of the city to tell Claudia that our affairs were in good hands. I had not told her my intentions beforehand so as not to raise false hopes.

When I told her about my talk with Agrippina, Claudia turned pale with horror, so that the freckles on each side of her nose stood out dark brown against her gray skin.

“Minutus, Minutus,” she wailed, “what have you done? Are you completely out of your mind?”

Of course, I was bitterly offended that she should be so lacking in understanding when I thought I was doing it all on her behalf. It had taken considerable moral courage to discuss such a delicate matter with the first lady of Rome. I tried to ask Claudia what she had against the noble Agrippina, but she would explain nothing. She just sat as if paralyzed, her hands in her lap, refusing even to look at me.

Caressing her made no difference either. Claudia brushed me aside brusquely and in the end I could only imagine that she had something on her conscience which she either would not or could not tell me. I could extract no other answer from her except that it was not worth explaining to me if I was really so simple-minded as to trust a woman like Agrippina.

I left her in a fury, for it was she who had spoiled everything by her perpetual talk of marriage and the future. I had already gone quite a way when she appeared in her doorway and called after me.

“Do we part like this, Minutus?” she cried. “Haven’t you a single kind word for me? Perhaps we shall never meet again.”

Understandably, I was disappointed that she had not submitted to my caresses, as in former reconciliations. So I swore at her.

“By Hercules,” I shouted, “I hope we never meet again!”

I regretted it the moment I reached the bridge over the Tiber, and I would have turned back if my masculine pride had not stopped me.

Nothing happened for a month. Then one day, Seneca took me aside.

“Minutus Lausus,” he said, “you are twenty now and it’s time you learned about the administration of a province, for the sake of your career. As you probably know, my brother has been given the province of Achaia for a number of years for his services. Now he has written to me to say that he needs an assistant who knows the laws and has some military experience. You are a little young, of course, but I think I know you well enough. And your father has been so generous to me that I feel you should have this excellent opportunity of making progress. It would be best if you went as soon as possible. You can go to Brindisi at once. From there, you can take the first ship to Corinth.”

I realized that this was an order, not just a favor. But a young man in my position could hardly have asked for a better post. Corinth is a lively, happy city and ancient Athens not far away. I should be able to visit all the memorable Hellenic places on tours of inspection. On my return after a couple of years, I could perhaps apply for office. The thirty-year age limit could often be pruned down with the help of special merit and good connections. I thanked Seneca reverently and began at once to prepare for the long journey.

In fact the assignment came at the most favorable moment. It was known in Rome that the British tribes had risen to test Ostorius. Vespasian they knew, but Ostorius was not yet familiar with the circumstances in Britain. I had already feared that I might be sent back there and I had no wish whatsoever to go. Even the Icenis, who had hitherto been Rome’s most peaceful and reliable allies, had begun to make forays over their river boundary, and because of Lugunda, it would have been difficult to fight against them.

Nevertheless, I felt I could not leave without saying good-bye to Claudia, however unpleasant she had been. So one day I walked over to the other side of the Tiber, but Claudia’s hut was barred and empty, no one answered my shouts, and her flock of sheep had gone. I hurried over to the Plautius farm in surprise and inquired about her. But I was received coldly and no one seemed to have the least idea where Claudia was. It was as if it were forbidden to speak her name.

I was so worried that I hurried back to the city and went to see Aunt Paulina at Plautius’ house. The old woman, in mourning as usual, received me more tearfully than ever but would not give me any direct information about Claudia.

“The less you talk about the matter the better,” she said, looking at me with hostility. “You’ve brought ruin to her, but perhaps it would have happened anyhow, sooner or later. You’re still young and I find it hard to believe that you know what you’ve done. Nevertheless, I cannot forgive you. I pray to God that He will forgive you.”

I was filled with dismay and forebodings over this secretiveness. I did not know what to believe. As far as I was concerned I did not feel guilty, for what had happened between Claudia and me had been of her own free will. But I was in a hurry.

After changing my clothes, I went quickly to Palatine to say goodbye to Nero, who said that he envied me my chance of becoming acquainted with ancient Greek culture. Holding my hand as a sign of friendship, he led me to his mother, although Agrippina was busy with Pallas over the treasury accounts. Pallas was considered to be the richest man in Rome. He was so haughty that he never spoke to his slaves, just expressing his desires with hand gestures which everyone had to interpret immediately.

Agrippina was evidently not pleased to be disturbed, but as usual she was pleased to see Nero. She wished me success in my assignment, warned me about the frivolity of Corinth, and hoped that I would seek out the best in Hellenic culture but return a good Roman.

I stammered out something, looking straight at her and making a gesture of appeal. She understood without words what I wanted. Freed-man Pallas did not even deign to look at me, but rustled impatiently with his scrolls and wrote figures on his wax tablet. Agrippina told Nero that he could usefully watch how skillfully Pallas added large sums, and led me to another room.

“It would be better if Nero did not hear what we have to say,” she said. “He’s an innocent boy, although he wears the man-toga.”

That was not true, for Nero himself had boasted of sleeping with a slave-girl, and also of trying out relations with a boy for the fun of it-although I could hardly tell his mother that. Agrippina looked at me with her clear eyes and a goddesslike expression and sighed.

“I know you want to hear something about Claudia,” she said. “I don’t want to disappoint you. I know how hard one takes these things when one is young. But it is better that you have your eyes opened in time, however much it hurts.

“I’ve had Claudia put under supervision,” she went on. “For your sake, I had to know the truth about her life and habits. I don’t mind that she disobeyed when she was expressly forbidden to show herself inside the city walls. Neither do I mind that she partook in certain slaves’ secret meals, at which I gather some not very pleasant things happened. But it was unforgivable that, outside the city and without the necessary health supervision, she used to sell herself for money to foremen, shepherds and anyone else.”

This dreadful and unbelievable accusation left me speechless, and Agrippina gave me a look of pity.

“The matter has been dealt with by the police court with the minimum publicity,” she said. “There were many witnesses. For your own sake, I won’t tell you who they were. You would be too ashamed. Out of mercy, Claudia has not been punished as the law demands. She has not been whipped, nor has her head been shaven. She has been sent away for a certain length of time to a closed house in a country town to better her ways. I shall not tell you where it is, so that you don’t go and do something stupid. If you still want to see her when you return from Greece, I’ll arrange it for you, as long as she has improved. But you must promise that you will not try to make contact with her before then. You owe that to me.”

Her explanation was so inconceivable that I felt my knees give way and I almost fainted. I could do nothing but remember everything about Claudia which had seemed strange to me-her experience and the fact that she was unusually hot-blooded. Agrippina put her lovely hand on my arm and shook her head slowly.

“Examine your conscience well, Minutus,” she said. “Only your youthful vanity stops you from seeing how cruelly you have been betrayed. Learn from this and don’t trust depraved women and what they say to you. It was lucky for you that you managed to extricate yourself in time by turning to me. You were wise to do so.”

I stared at her in an attempt to find even the slightest sign of uncertainty in her plump face and clear eyes. She stroked my cheek lightly.

“Look into my eyes, Minutus Lausus,” she said. “Whom do you believe more, me or that simple girl who so cruelly betrayed your innocent trust in her?”

My common sense and my confused feelings vied with each other to say that I must believe this gentlewoman, the Emperor’s consort, more than Claudia. I bowed my head, for hot tears were rising in my eyes from painful disappointment. Agrippina pressed my face to her soft bosom. Suddenly I felt an excited trembling in my body and was even more ashamed of myself.

“Please don’t thank me now, although I’ve done much for you that has been distasteful to me,” she whispered in my ear, so that I felt her warm breath and trembled even more. “I know that you will come and thank me later, when you’ve had time to think the matter over. I have saved you from the worst danger a young man can meet on the threshold of manhood.”

Cautiously, for fear of some unexpected witness, she pushed me away and gave me a lovely smile. My face was so burning hot and tear-stained that I did not want anyone to see it. Agrippina sent me away a back way. I walked down the steep alley of the Goddess of Victory with my head bowed, and I stumbled on the white stones.