The Roman

Book VIII

My wife’s suggestion turned out to be true, insofar as two years elapsed before Nero dared to think seriously of divorcing Octavia. On his return to Rome after the death of his mother, he considered it politically more, prudent to send Poppaea away from Palatine and to spend his nights with her in secret. He pardoned many exiles, reinstated dismissed senators to office and distributed the colossal fortune he had inherited from Agrippina as bribes. Agrippina’s property, possessions and slaves, however, were not gready sought after by the Roman aristocracy. Nero gave the larger part of them to the people at the great circus performance at which he had lots cast out at random among the spectators.

To ease his conscience and win the favor of the people, Nero went as far as to suggest to the Senate that all direct taxation should be abolished. Naturally he himself realized this was impossible, but the Senate was placed in an ignominious position in the eyes of the people since they were forced to reject the suggestion immediately.

Considerable reforms were made on the levying of taxes, certain purchase taxes were lowered and most important of all, in future everyone was to have the right to know how, and why and on what sum he was to be taxed. The tax collectors grumbled bitterly, for they had lost their former right to extract their own bounty over and above the taxes, but the merchants stood to gain, as they could keep their prices the same and pay less purchase tax.

Nero also appeared in public before the crowd as a charioteer, for, according to his own statement, driving a team of horses had in the past been a sport of kings and gods. To set a good example to the aristocracy, he appeared in the great games on the Greek pattern as a dramatic singer, accompanying himself on the cittern. His voice had grown strong since his mother’s death, but for safety’s sake and to avoid demonstrations, Burrus ordered a troop of Praetorians to the theater to keep order and to applaud Nero. He himself set an example by clapping, although as a warrior he was deeply ashamed of the Emperor’s conduct. Presumably he also thought that Nero might well have taken up even more shameful pursuits.

The result was that Greek fashions finally conquered Rome. Most of the senators and the members of the Noble Order of Knights took part in Nero’s games. Noble girls performed Greek dances and even elderly matrons demonstrated the suppleness of their limbs in the circus. I personally had nothing against these amusements, for they saved me much trouble and expense, but except for the races, the people did not like them very much. In their opinion, professional singers, musicians, dancers and actors performed incomparably better than amateurs. The disappointment was great when no wild animals were displayed in the intervals, not to mention gladiators. The older generation among the nobility was appalled, for they considered gymnastic exercises, hot baths and effeminate music to be weakening Roman youth and their capacity to fight at a moment when Rome needed experienced tribunes.

Like an evil omen, war again broke out in Armenia, and a dreadful woman called Boadicea united the British tribes in a devastating rebellion in Britain. A whole legion was annihilated, two Roman towns were razed to the ground and the Procurator lost control to such an extent that he had to flee across to Gaul.

I think Queen Boadicea would never have won so many adherents in Britain had the legions not been forced to live off the country, and had the interest on the loans made by Seneca to the British princes ever been paid, for the barbarians still did not understand the present monetary system.

The younger knights turned out to be reluctant to volunteer to be impaled and burned by Boadicea, but preferred to play their citterns in Rome, clad in Greek tunics and wearing their hair long. Before the situation had clarified, Nero even suggested to the Senate that the legions should be withdrawn altogether from Britain, where there was nothing but trouble. The country was devouring more than it produced. If we abandoned Britain, three legions would be released to lessen the pressure from the Parthians in the East. The fourth had already been lost.

During the violent discussion in the Senate which followed, Seneca, the spokesman for peace and love of humanity, made a brilliant speech in which he referred to the god Claudius’ triumphs in Britain.

An Emperor could not refute his adoptive father’s conquests without ruining his reputation. Actually, Seneca was of course thinking of the enormous sums of money he had invested in Britain.

One of the senators asked whether it had been absolutely necessary to murder seventy thousand citizens and allies and to plunder and burn two flourishing towns to ashes just to protect Seneca’s profits. Seneca turned very red and assured the Senate that the Roman money invested in Britain went toward civilizing the country and to fostering trade and buying power. This could be confirmed by other senators who had invested their money there.

“The omens are alarming,” someone called.

But Seneca defended himself and assured them that it was not his fault if some untrustworthy British kings had used the money from loans for their own private purposes and the secret acquisition of arms. The conduct of the legions was the main reason for the war, so the commantlers should be punished and reinforcements should be sent to Britain.

To abandon Britain completely was of course much too bitter a pill for the Senate to swallow. That much of Rome’s former pride at least remains. So it was decided not to evacuate the country, but to send more troops there instead. Several incensed senators forced their grown sons to have their hair cut and take up service as tribunes in Britain. They took their citterns with them, but the ravaged towns and the cruelties and shrill war cries of the Britons soon caused them to throw them away and fight courageously.

I have special reason for dwelling on the events in Britain, although I myself did not witness them. Boadicea was the Queen of the Icenis. After her husband’s death the legions had interpreted his will so that his land became Roman hereditary property. Boadicea was a woman and cared nothing for the law. We ourselves needed learned lawyers to interpret wills correcdy. When Boadicea contested the decision and appealed to the Britons’ law of inheritance on the distaff side, she was flogged by the legionaries, her daughters were raped and her property looted. The legionaries had also turned many Iceni noblemen out of their estates and committed murder and other atrocities.

Legally, right was on their side for the King, who had not been able to read or write, had in fact had a will drawn up in which he left his land to the Emperor, thinking that in this way he was securing the position of his widow and daughters against the envy of the Iceni noblemen. The Icenis had from the beginning been allies of the Romans, although they had no special love for them.

After the arrival of the reinforcements, a decisive battle was fought and the Britons, led by this vengeful woman, were defeated. The Romans avenged Boadicea’s brutalities to Roman women, whom, because of the insult she had suffered, she had allowed her people to treat abominably. Soon a stream of British slaves began to arrive in Rome-admittedly only women and half-grown boys, for adult Britons are useless as slaves-and much to the people’s disappointment, Nero had forbidden the use of prisoners-of-war in the battles in the amphitheater.

One lovely day I was visited by a slave dealer who was dragging a ten-year-old boy by a rope. He behaved secretively, winking repeatedly at me in the hopes that I would send any witnesses out of the room. Then he lengthily complained of the bad times, his innumerable expenses and the shortage of willing buyers. The boy looked around with angry eyes.

“This young warrior,” explained the slave dealer, “tried to defend his mother with his sword when our incensed legionaries raped and killed her. Out of respect for the boy’s courage, the soldiers did not kill him but sold him to me. As you see from his straight limbs, his fine skin and green eyes, he is of noble Iceni descent. He can ride, swim and use a bow and arrow. Believe it or not, he can even write a little too and he speaks a few words of Latin. I’ve heard it said that you might like to buy him and pay me more than if I offered him for sale in the slave market.”

‘Whoever told you that?” I exclaimed in surprise. “I’ve more than enough slaves. They make my life intolerable and deprive me of my own freedom, not to mention real wealth, which is solitude.”

“A certain Petro, an Iceni physician in the service of Rome, recognized the boy in London,” said the slave dealer. “He gave me your name and assured me you would pay me the highest price for the boy. But who can trust a Briton? Show your book, boy.”

He cuffed the boy over the head. The boy rummaged in his belt and drew out the remains of a torn and dirty Chaldaean-Egyptian book of dreams. I recognized it as soon as I touched it, and my limbs and joints dissolved into water.

“Is your mother’s name Lugunda?” I asked the boy, although I knew the answer. Petro’s name alone confirmed that the boy was my own son whom I had never seen. I wanted to take him in my arms and acknowledge him as my son, although there were no witnesses available, but the boy hit me in the face with his fist and bit my cheek. The slave dealer’s face darkened with rage and he fumbled for his whip.

“Don’t hit him,” I said. “I’ll buy the boy. What’s your price?”

The slave dealer looked at me appraisingly and again spoke of his outlays and losses.

“To be rid of him,” he said finally, “I’ll sell him at the lowest price. A hundred gold pieces. The boy is still untamed.”

Ten thousand sesterces was an insane price to pay for a half-grown boy when bedworthy young women were on offer in the market for a few gold pieces. It was not just the price, for naturally I should have paid an even higher one if necessary, but I had to sit down and think hard as I looked at the boy. The slave dealer misunderstood my silence and began to speak for his goods, explaining that there were several rich men in Rome who had acquired eastern habits and for whom the boy was of a choice age. But he lowered his price, first to ninety and then to eighty gold pieces.

In fact I was only wondering how I could make the purchase without my son becoming a slave. A formal purchase would have to be made at the tabellarium, where the contract would be confirmed and the boy would have to be branded with my own symbol of ownership, MM, after which he would never again be able to gain Roman citizenship, even if he were freed.

“Perhaps I could have him trained as a charioteer,” I said at last. “The Petro you mention was in fact a friend of mine when I was serving in Britain. I trust his recommendation. Couldn’t we arrange it so that you give me a written certificate to say that Petro, as the boy’s guardian, has assigned to you the task of bringing him here for me to look after him?”

The slave dealer gave me a sly look.

“I am the one who has to pay the purchase tax on him, not you,” he said. “I can’t really knock off any more from the price.”

I scratched my head. The matter was very involved and could easily have appeared to be an attempt to circumvent the high tax on slaves. But I might as well benefit in some way from my position as son-in-law to the City Prefect.

I put on my toga and the three of us set off for the temple of Mercury. Among the people there, I soon found a citizen who had lost his rank of knight and who, for a reasonable sum, agreed to stand as the other necessary witness to the oath. Thus a document could be drawn up and confirmed with a double oath.

According to this, the boy was a freeborn Briton whose parents, Ituna and Lugunda, had been killed in the war because of their friendship for Rome. Through the mediation of the physician Petro, they had sent their son to the security of Rome in good time, to have him brought up by their guest and friend, the knight Minutus Lausus Manilianus.

In a special clause it was stipulated that I, as his guardian, should hold a watching brief for his inheritance in the Iceni country when peace was finally declared in Britain. This strengthened my case to some extent, for the Mercury priests took it that I had something to gain from the boy at the distribution of war spoils.

‘What shall we put down as his name?” asked the notary.

“Jucundus,” I said. It was the first name that came into my head.

They all burst into relieved laughter, for the sullen boy was anything but a picture of sweetness. The priest said that I was going to be hard put to make a good Roman of him.

The drawing up and sealing of the deeds and the customary gift to the Mercury priests came to a considerably larger sum than the purchase tax would have done. The slave dealer began to regret the deal and took me for a cleverer purchaser than I in fact was. He had already taken his oath, however, but in the end I paid him the hundred gold pieces he had at first asked, just to be rid of him without further ado.

When we finally left the temple of Mercury, the boy unexpectedly thrust his hand into mine as if he felt lonely in the everyday noise and bustle of the street. I was seized with a strange feeling as I held his small hand and led him home through the josding city of Rome. I thought of the possibility of acquiring Roman citizenship for him when he was older, and then adopting him if I could persuade Sabina to agree. But those problems would come later.

Nevertheless, I had more trouble than joy from my son Jucundus. At first he would not even speak and I thought the horrors of war had turned him dumb. He smashed many objects in the house and refused to wear the clothes of a Roman boy. Claudia made no headway with him at all. The first time Jucundus saw a Roman boy of his own age outside the house, he rushed at him and beat him over the head with a stone until Barbus managed to intervene. Barbus suggested a severe beating, but I thought one should try more gende methods first and spoke to the boy myself.

“I’m sure you are mourning your mother’s death,” I said. “You were dragged here with a rope around your neck like a dog. But you aren’t a dog. You must grow up and become a man. We all wish the best for you. Tell us what you would like to do most?”

“Kill Romans!” cried Jucundus.

I sighed with relief, for at least the boy could speak after all.

“You can’t do that here in Rome,” I said. “But you can learn Roman customs and habits and one day perhaps I can make you into a Roman knight. If you stick to your plans, you can return to Britain when you are older and kill Romans in the Roman way. The Roman art of war is better than the British, as you yourself have seen.”

Jucundus sulked, but my words had perhaps some effect on him.

“Barbus is an old veteran,” I went on craftily, “even if his head does shake. Ask him. He can tell you about batdes and warfare much better than I can.”

So, Barbus once again had the opportunity to tell the story of the time when he had swum fully equipped across the Danube between the ice floes with a wounded centurion on his back. He could show his scars and explain why unconditional obedience and a hardened body were the inescapable foundations for efficiency as a warrior. He acquired a taste for wine again and he wandered about Rome with the boy, taking him to bathe in the Tiber and teaching him to express himself pungently in the Latin of the people.

But Barbus was also troubled by his wild temper and one day took me to one side.

“Jucundus is a bright boy,” he said, “but even I, hardened old man that I am, am horrified by his descriptions of what he is going to do to both Roman men and women one day. I’m afraid he witnessed terrible things when the Britons’ rebellion was crushed. The worst of it is, he keeps rushing up the slopes to shout curses over Rome in his barbaric language. In secret he worships gods of the underworld and sacrifices mice to them. It’s quite obvious that he is possessed by evil powers. Nothing will come of his upbringing until he is freed of his demons.”

“How can we do that?” I asked doubtfully.

“Cephas of the Christians is a great one for driving out demons,” said Barbus, avoiding my eyes. “He’s the cleverest man I’ve ever met at that sort of thing. At his command, a raving man becomes as gende as a lamb.”

Barbus was afraid I would be angry, but on the contrary, I thought that for once it might prove of some use that I put up with Christian meetings and meals in my house and allowed my slaves to believe what they liked. When Barbus saw that I was in favor, he eagerly began to tell me that Cephas, with the help of his pupils who knew Latin, was teaching children humility and obedience to their parents. Many citizens who were troubled by young people’s increasing lack of discipline sent their children to their holy day school, at which, in addition, the instruction was quite free.

Several weeks later, Jucundus came running up to me of his own accord, seized my hand and dragged me into my room.

“Is it true?” he said. “That there’s an invisible kingdom and that the Romans crucified the king? And that he’s coming back any time now, and then he’ll throw all the Romans into the fire?”

I thought the boy showed sound judgment in not immediately believing what he was told, but coming to me for confirmation. At the same time, however, I was put in an awkward position.

“It’s true the Romans crucified him,” I said cautiously. “On a notice on the cross it said that he was the king of the Jews. My father saw it happen with his own eyes at the time and he still maintains that the sky darkened and the mountains were rent when he died. The leading Christians think he’ll come back quite soon. And it’s about time, for it’s over thirty years since his death now.”

“Cephas is an Archdruid,” said Jucundus. “He’s more powerful than the Druids of Britain, although he’s a Jew. He demands all sorts of things, just like the Druids. One must wash oneself and wear clean clothes, one must pray, tolerate insults, turn the other cheek if someone hits one, and he’s got other tests of self-control too, just like Petro. And we have secret signs too, by which the initiated recognize each other.”

“I’m sure Cephas does not teach you any ill,” I said, “and the exercises he asks of you demand great strength of will. But you must realize that all those are secrets. You mustn’t talk about them to anyone.”

Pretending the utmost secrecy, I took my mother’s wooden goblet out of the chest and showed it to Jucundus.

“This is a magic goblet,” I told him. “The king of the Jews himself once drank from it. Now we’ll drink from it together, but it is so secret that you mustn’t ever tell anyone, not even Cephas.”

I mixed wine and water in the goblet and we drank from it together, my son and I, in the dimly lit room. I had the impression that the liquid did not lessen in the goblet, but it was only an illusion caused by the poor lighting. I was seized with a great tenderness and I suddenly realized, as if in a vision, that I must tell the truth about Jucundus to my father, in case anything should happen to me.

Without further ado, we set out for Tullia’s fine house on Viminalis. Jucundus behaved perfectly and looked around with wide-open eyes, for he had never seen such a magnificent private house. Senator Pud-ens, who was Cephas’ patron, lived in an old-fashioned way and I had not made any alterations to my house on Aventine, although it had become very cramped over the years. To rebuild it would have upset Aunt Laelia.

I left the boy with Tullia and shut myself up with my father in his room to tell him all about Jucundus. To tell the truth, I had not seen my father for a long time. I felt pity for him when I saw how bald and round-shouldered he had become, but of course he was already over sixty. He listened to me without comment and without once looking straight at me. Finally he spoke.

“The destinies of fathers appear in distorted forms in their sons,” he said. “Your own mother was a Greek from the islands and your son’s mother was a Briton from the Iceni tribe. In my youth, I was dragged into a shameful scandal of poisoning and falsifying a will. I have heard such terrible things about you that I cannot really believe them. I have never been especially pleased about your marriage to Sabina, even if her father is the City Prefect, and I have no desire to go and see the son she has borne you, your Lausus, for reasons I need hardly explain to you. What spark of wisdom made you have Jucundus brought up by Cephas? Cephas and I have been acquainted since the days of Galilee. He is less brusque and excitable than he was then. What plans have you for the boy’s future?”

“It would be best,” I said, “if I could get him into the school on Palatine where famous orators and pupils of Seneca train the sons of our allied kings and the provincial nobility. His wretched Latin would not attract attention there. He could make useful friends among his contemporaries, if only Cephas can subdue him a little first. When the administration of Britain is reorganized, there will be a need for a new Romanized aristocracy. The boy is of noble Iceni stock on the distaff side. But for some reason, Nero does not want to see me at the moment, although we are friends.”

“I am a member of the Senate,” said my father after a moment’s thought, “and I have never before begged a favor of Nero. I have also learned to keep my mouth shut in the Senate, which is more due to Tullia than to me, as I have lived with her during all these years and she has always had the last word. The situation is very confused and the records in Britain have been destroyed, so a clever lawyer could easily find evidence that the boy’s parents had received Roman citizenship in return for their services. It should be even easier as his father is not known. And it wouldn’t even be distorting the truth if you once went through a British form of marriage with his mother. Your own mother has a statue outside the Council House in Myrina. You could pay for a statue of your Lugunda in the Claudius temple when Colchester is rebuilt. I consider you owe that to the mother of your son.”

The strangest thing of all was that Tullia meanwhile had become quite enchanted by Jucundus and could not do enough for him. In spite of her strenuous efforts, her plump beauty had begun to fade and her chins had become a wrinkled bag. When she heard about the sad fate of Jucundus’ mother, she burst into tears and swept him into her arms.

“I can see from his mouth, nose and eyebrows and also from his eyes, that the boy is of noble birth,” she cried. “His parents must have possessed every merit except discrimination, since they’ve appointed a man like Minutus as his guardian. Believe me, I can tell gold from brass at a glance.”

Jucundus patiendy endured her caresses and kisses like a sacrificial lamb. Cephas’ training was already bearing fruit.

“The gods never allowed me children of my own,” Tullia went on sadly, “only miscarriages which I went to great trouble to arrange in my youth and during my two marriages. My third husband was sterile because of his great age, even if he was otherwise rich. And Marcus wasted his seed on a Greek pleasure-girl. But enough of that. I do not wish to offend the memory of your mother, my dear Minutus. This British boy I see as a good omen in our house. Marcus, you must save the handsome Jucundus from your feeble son’s guardianship. Who knows, otherwise Sabina might turn him into an animal trainer one day. Couldn’t we adopt him and bring him up as our own child?”

I was paralyzed with surprise and at first my father did not know what to say either. Now that I think about it, I can only imagine that there must have been some supernatural power within my mother’s wooden goblet.

In this way I was relieved of a heavy duty, for at that time I was not really fit to bring up anyone, no more then than now. This I have learned from you, Julius. For many reasons my reputation was not a good one, while my father was regarded as a good-natured fool. He had no ambitions and no one thought he would ever willingly become involved in political intrigues.

As an expert in Eastern matters, he had filled the office of Praetor for two months for the sake of form. He had once, from sheer good will, been proposed as Consul. If Jucundus became his adoptive son, the boy would have incomparably better prospects than he would under my protection. And as a senator’s son he could be written into the rolls of knights as soon as he had shed his boy’s clothes.

Shortly after I had solved this problem, I heard that the Praetorian Prefect Burrus had developed a boil in his throat and was dying. Nero hastily sent his own personal physician to attend him. When Burrus was informed of this, he drew up his will and sent it for safekeeping to the Vestal temple.

Not until then did he allow the physician to paint his throat with an infallible remedy on a feather. The next night he was well and truly dead. Presumably he would have died in any case, for blood poisoning had set in and he had begun to be delirious with fever.

Burrus was buried with great ceremony. Before the pyre was lit on Mars field, Nero proclaimed Tigellinus Praetorian Prefect. This former horse dealer did not have sufficient judicial experience, so Fenius Ru-fus, a man of Jewish descent, formerly very widely traveled in his capacity as State Inspector of the grain trade, was appointed to deal with external cases.

I walked the whole length of the goldsmiths’ street to find a sufficiently worthy gift. Finally I decided on a multistringed necklace of faultless pearls and with it I sent the following letter to Poppaea Sabina:

Minutus Lausus Manilianus greets Poppaea Sabina: Venus was born from the foam of the waves. Pearls are a worthy gift to Venus, but the most faultless radiance of these humble Parthian pearls cannot compare with the shimmer of your complexion. I can never forget it. I hope these pearls will remind you of our friendship. Certain signs and omens show that the prophecy you were once pleased to reveal to me is about to be fulfilled.

Obviously I was the first to interpret the omens so skillfully, for Poppaea sent for me at once, thanked me for the beautiful gift and tried to find out how I could have known that she was pregnant, when she herself had known only a few days before. I could only point out my

Etruscan heritage, which sometimes helped me with unusual dreams.

“After his mother’s death,” said Poppaea, “Nero was upset and tried to push me to one side. But now all is well again. He needs his real friends who will stand by him and support him in his policies.”

This was indeed true, for after he had publicly reproached Octavia for barrenness and informed the Senate that he was thinking of separating from her, violent disturbances had broken out in the city. To test the feelings of the people, Nero had a statue of Poppaea erected in the forum near the Vestal Virgins’ well. A crowd threw it down, garlanded the statues of Octavia and then made their way up to Palatine, so that the Praetorians had to take to their arms to persuade them to go away.

I suspected that Seneca’s clever fingers were in this game, since the uprising and demonstration had been so spontaneous and apparently well planned. Nero, however, was badly frightened and at once recalled Octavia, who was on her way to Campania on his orders. Jubilant crowds followed her sedan and offers of thanksgiving were made in the temples of the Capitoline when she was back in Palatine.

The following day, for the first time in two years, I received an urgent summons from Nero. One of Octavia’s servant girls had accused her of adultery with an Alexandrian flute player called Eucerus. The trial was held in secret and had been arranged by Tigellinus. Octavia herself was not present.

I was heard as a witness, as I knew Eucerus. I could only say that flute music itself is inclined to give people frivolous thoughts. I had with my own eyes seen Octavia sighing, her melancholy gaze on Eucerus as he played at dinner. But, I added for the sake of justice, Octavia sighed on other occasions too, apd was of a melancholy temperament, as everyone knew.

Octavia’s slaves underwent interrogations that were so painful I began to feel slightly sick as I watched. Some of them were prepared to confess but could nqt explain when, where and how the adultery had taken place. Tigellinus intervened in the interrogation, which was not going as he had wished, and impatiently said to a pretty girl, “Wasn’t this adultery a subject of general conversation among the servants?”

“If one believed everything people say,” the girl snapped back in reply, “then Octavia’s private parts are incomparably more chaste than your mouth, Tigellinus.”

The laughter was so great that the interrogation had to be broken off. Tigellinus’ vices were well known. He had now also revealed his legal ignorance by using leading questions to make the slaves admit something which was obviously not true. The judges’ sympathies were with the slaves and they would not allow Tigellinus to cause them lasting harm against the injunctions of the law.

The court adjourned until the following day. Then the only witness to appear was the Commantler of the Fleet, my old friend Anicetus. With feigned embarrassment he related, carefully giving time and place, how Octavia, while in Baiae to bathe, had shown a surprising interest in the fleet and had personally wished to make the acquaintance of the captains and the centurions.

Anicetus had misunderstood her intentions and had made approaches to her, which Octavia had nevertheless definitely rejected. Then Anicetus, blinded by criminal lust, had drugged her with a narcotic drink and used her, but later had bitterly regretted his deed. He could now only plead for the Emperor’s mercy, for his conscience had made him confess his crime.

That Anicetus had a conscience at all was news to everyone, himself included, I should think. But the divorce was confirmed by the court, Octavia was exiled to the island of Pandataria, and the faithful Anicetus sent to the naval base in Sardinia. And Nero managed without Seneca’s help to compose an eloquent account of what had happened for the Senate of Rome and the people. In this he implied that Octavia, relying on Burrus, had thought that she had the Praetorian Guard on her side. To win the support of the navy, she had seduced the naval commantler, Anicetus, but had become pregnant and, in the knowledge of her own depravity, had criminally caused an abortion.

This statement bore an authentic ring to those who did not personally know Octavia. I myself read it in wonder, for I had been present at the secret trial. But I realized that a certain exaggeration was necessary, because of Octavia’s popularity among the people.

To avoid demonstrations, Nero immediately had all the statues of Octavia destroyed. But the people withdrew indoors as if in mourning, and at the Senate there was not even a quorum, so many stayed away. There was no discussion on Nero’s statement, for it was not a bill but only a directive from the Emperor.

Twelve days later Nero was married to Poppaea Sabina, but the wedding celebrations were not particularly gay. Nevertheless, the wedding presents filled an entire room in Palatine.

As usual, Nero had a careful list of the gifts made and saw to it that every donor received an official letter of thanks. Rumor had it that he had also had a special list drawn up of those senators and knights who had not sent a gift or who on account of illness had not attended the wedding. So, simultaneously with gifts from the provinces, there poured in a number of late presents together with many explanations and apologies. The Jewish Council in Rome sent Poppaea goblets made of gold and decorated with grapes, worth half a million sesterces.

Statues of Poppaea Sabina were erected all over Rome in place of those of Octavia. Tigellinus had the Praetorians guard them day and night so that some people who, in all innocence, wishing to garland them with wreaths received a jab in the face from a shield or a blow from the flat of a sword for their pains.

One night someone pulled a sack over the head of the giant statue of Nero on the Capitoline. The news soon spread all over Rome and everyone realized what lay behind it. According to the laws of our forefathers, a patricide or a matricide shall be drowned in a sack together with a snake, a cat and a cockerel. As far as I know, this was the first time anyone had publicly implied that Nero had killed his mother.

My father-in-law, Flavius Sabinus, was very worried by the oppressive atmosphere which lay over Rome. When he heard that a live adder had been found on one of the marble floors at Palatine, he ordered the police to keep their eyes skinned for every possible demonstration. This was how the wife of a rich senator came to be arrested for carrying her cat with her on her evening walk. A slave on his way to the temple of Aesculapius with a cockerel he was to sacrifice for his master’s health was flogged. This provoked general merriment, although my father-in-law was only acting in good faith, with no ill intentions. Nero, however, was so angry with him that he lost his office for a while.

For all of us who could think reasonably, it was as clear as daylight that the rejection of Octavia was being used as an excuse for a general blackening of Nero’s name in every way. Poppaea Sabina was more beautiful and much cleverer than the fastidious Octavia, although this was her third marriage. But the older generation did everything they could to stir up trouble among the people.

In fact I felt my throat many times during those days and wondered what it would be like to lose one’s head. A military coup was imminent, for the Praetorians did not like Tigellinus, who was of low descent and a former horse dealer, and who maintained discipline ruthlessly. He soon quarreled with his colleague in office, Fenius Rufus, so that they could no longer remain in the same room together. One, usually Rufus, always left.

We who were Nero’s friends and honestly wished him well, gathered at Palatine in a solemn council. Tigellinus was the eldest and the one with the strongest will, so however much we disliked him, we still turned to him and he spoke seriously to Nero.

“Here in the city,” he said, “I can guarantee order and your safety. But in Massilia there is the exiled Sulla who has Antonia’s support. He is poor and prematurely gray from his humiliations. I know from reliable sources that he has connections in noble circles in Gaul, people who admire Antonia because of her own great name and because she is Claudius’ daughter. The legions in Germany are also so near that Sulla’s very presence in Massilia is a danger to the State and the common good.”

Nero admitted this and said in despair, “I cannot imagine why no one loves Poppaea Sabina as I do. At the moment she is in a delicate condition and must not be exposed to the slightest excitement.”

“Plautius is an even greater danger to you,” Tigellinus went on. “It was a great mistake to exile him to Asia, where it was unruly enough without him. His grandfather was a Drusus. Who can guarantee that Corbulo and his legions will remain loyal to you? His father-in-law, Senator Lucius Antistius, has sent one of his freedmen there to urge Plautius to make the most of the opportunity. This I have from trustworthy sources. In addition he is very wealthy, and with an ambitious man, that is just as dangerous as poverty.”

“I know the situation in Asia quite well,” I put in. “I’ve heard that Plautius only keeps company with philosophers. The Etruscan Muso-nius, who is a good friend of the world-famous Apollonius from Tyana, voluntarily went into exile with him.”

Tigellinus struck his hands together triumphantly.

“You see, my lord!” he cried. “Philosophers are the worst advisers of all when they whisper their outrageous views on freedom and tyranny into young men’s ears.”

“Who can even suggest that I am a tyrant?” said Nero indignandy. “I have given the people more freedom than any other ruler before me. And I meekly submit all my proposals to the Senate for their approval.”

We hurriedly assured him that as far as the welfare of the nation was concerned, he was the mildest and most liberal ruler one could imagine. But now it was a matter of what was best for the State and there was nothing more terrible than civil war.

At that moment, Poppaea Sabina came rushing in, scantily dressed, her hair hanging loose and tears pouring down her cheeks. She flung herself down in front of Nero, rubbed her breasts against his knees and pleaded with him.

“I don’t mind for myself,” she said, “or my position, or even for our unborn son, but this is a matter of your life, dearest Nero. Trust Tigellinus. He knows what he is saying.”

Poppaea’s physician had agitatedly followed her in.

“There is a risk of a miscarriage if she does not have peace of mind,” he said, gently trying to disengage her from Nero.

“How can I ever have peace of mind as long as that loathsome woman plots away on Pandataria?” wailed Poppaea. “She has insulted your marriage bed, she practices the worst kind of witchcraft and has several times tried to poison me. I’ve been sick several times today, just because I’m so frightened.”

“He who has once chosen his way can no longer look back,” said Tigellinus with conviction. “I appeal to your magnanimity as our friend, if you won’t think of your own life, Nero. You are putting all our lives in danger with your indecisiveness. The first to be swept away in the coup will be those who wish you well and are not just pressing their own advantage, as Seneca is, for instance. Faced with the inevitable, the gods themselves must bow down.”

Nero’s eyes filled with tears of sorrow.

“Be my witnesses,” he declared, “you who can confirm that this is the most burdensome moment of my life, when my personal feelings must give way for the State and the common good. I comply with what is politically unavoidable.”

Tigellinus’ hard face lit up and he raised his arm in greeting.

“Now you are a true ruler, Nero,” he said. “Trustworthy Praetorians are already on their way to Massilia. I have sent a whole maniple to Asia with the possibility of armed resistance in mind. I could not endure the thought of those who envy you using this opportunity to overthrow you and injure the fatherland.”

Instead of being angry at his high-handedness, Nero let out a sigh of relief and praised him as a true friend. Then he absentmindedly asked how long it took a courier to get to Pandataria.

Only a few days later, Poppaea Sabina asked me secretively, “Would you like to see the best wedding present I’ve had from Nero?”

She led me to her room, lifted a brown-flecked cloth from a willow basket and showed me Octavia’s bloodless head. Screwing up her delightful nose, she said, “Ugh, it’s beginning to smell and collect flies. My physician has ordered me to throw it away, but looking at this wedding present now and again convinces me more than anything else that I really am the Imperial consort.

“Just think,” she went on. “When the Praetorians came to put her in a hot bath so that her veins could be opened painlessly, like a little girl who has broken her doll, she cried, ‘I haven’t done anything.’ She was, after all, twenty years old. But she must have been backward in some way. Who knows with whom Messalina conceived her? Perhaps simply the deranged Claudius.”

Nero demantled that the Senate should decide on thank-offerings in the temples of the Capitoline for the averting of the danger to the State. Twelve days later, Faustus Sulla’s prematurely gray head arrived from Massilia and the Senate voluntarily decided to continue with the thank-offerings.

In the city a stubborn rumor spread that Plautius had started a rebellion in Asia. Civil war and a defeat in the East were considered so likely that the price of gold and silver began to rise and a number of people hurriedly sold both land and city apartments cheaply. I took the opportunity to make some very profitable deals.

When Plautius’ head eventually arrived from Asia after some delay caused by storms, public relief was so great that not only the Senate but also individual citizens made thank-offerings. Nero made the most of the situation and reinstated Rufus in his former office as Inspector for the grain trade and at the same time promoted him to Procurator for the State Grain Stores. Tigellinus weeded out the Praetorians and pensioned several off early to the veteran colony in Puteoli. For my part, I was at least five million sesterces richer after these events.

Seneca took part in the festive processions and thank-offerings, but many people noticed that his legs were unsteady and his hands trembled violently. He was already over sixty-five and had become considerably fatter, his face swollen and his cheekbones blue. Nero kept out of his way as much as possible and avoided being left alone with him so as not to have to listen to his reproaches.

But one day Seneca applied for an official audience. For safety’s sake, Nero gathered his friends around him, hoping that in spite of everything, Seneca would not accuse him in public. But Seneca made an elegant speech in his honor, praising him for his foresight and the determination with which he had preserved the fatherland from the dangers which had threatened it, dangers which Seneca’s own aging eyes had not been able to discern. After this meeting, Seneca ceased to receive anyone who wished to meet him, dismissed his guard of honor and moved out into the country to his beautiful estate on the road to Praeneste. He put forward his poor health as a reason and explained that he was occupied with a philosophical treatise into the pleasures of denial. It was said that he held to a strict diet and avoided people, so that he did not have much pleasure from his great wealth.

I was given the surprising honor of being appointed Praetor Extraordinary in the middle of a term of office. For this appointment I presumably had Poppaea’s friendship to thank, as well as Tigellinus’ opinion that I was a weak-willed man. Troubled by the atmosphere the political murders had created and the tension over Poppaea’s pregnancy, Nero felt the need to show himself as a good ruler by clearing up all the foreign lawsuits which had accumulated to an inexcusable extent at the Praetorium.

I think that Nero’s self-confidence was strengthened by an unexpected omen. During a sudden thunderstorm, a flash of lightning knocked a gold goblet out of his hand. I do not think the lightning in fact struck the actual goblet, but probably struck so near him that the goblet fell out of his hand. The event was hushed up, but it was soon generally known in the city and was interpreted, of course, as an ill omen.

But according to the Etruscans’ ancient lore of lightning, a person who is struck by lightning without being killed is holy and dedicated to the gods. Nero, who willingly believed in omens, now seriously began to regard himself as a holy man and tried for a while to behave accordingly, as long as the political murders still burdened his oversensitive conscience.

When I took up my appointment at the Praetorium, Tigellinus put at my disposal a room choked with a dusty collection of documents. All of them were lawsuits in which Roman citizens resident abroad were appealing to the Emperor. Tigellinus put some of them to one side.

“I have received considerable gifts to hurry these on,” he said. “Prepare them first. I have chosen you to help because you have shown a certain flexibility in difficult matters of some urgency and also because you yourself are so wealthy that your integrity need not be doubted. The other opinions expressed about you in the Senate at your appointment were not flattering. See to it then that rumor of our integrity is spread all through the provinces. If you are offered gifts, refuse them, although you may indicate that I as Prefect might possibly hurry the matter on. But remember that the final verdict of the Praetorium cannot under any circumstances be bought. Only Nero himself pronounces the verdict, guided by our advice.”

He turned to leave, but then added, “We have had a Jewish magician here under arrest for two years. He must be released, for during Pop-paea’s pregnancy she must not be exposed to any witchcraft. Poppaea favors the Jews all too much. I do not want to meet him myself. This Jew has already bewitched several of his guards among the Praetorians, to the extent that they are now useless as guards.”

My task was not quite so difficult as I had first thought. Most of the cases stemmed from Burrus’ day and were already marked with reports by a more knowledgeable lawyer than I. After Agrippina’s death, Nero had avoided Burrus and pushed the lawsuits to one side, to expose him to general dissatisfaction over the slowness of litigation.

Out of curiosity, I immediately went through the papers concerning the Jewish magician. To my surprise, I saw that they were about my old acquaintance Saul of Tarsus. He was accused of insulting the temple in Jerusalem, and to judge by the papers, he had been arrested there when Felix had been relieved of his office because he was Pallas’ brother. The new Procurator Festus had sent Paul to prison in Rome and I saw that he really had been under arrest for two years.

Nevertheless, he had permission to live freely in the city, while he himself paid for his guard, and among the documents was a statement from Seneca recommending his release. I did not know that Paul was wealthy enough to be able to afford an appeal to the Emperor.

Within two days I had sorted out a number of cases in which Nero could show his mildness and generosity, but with my knowledge of Saul-Paul, I considered it wisest to visit him in his quarters beforehand so that at the Imperial court he did not make the mistake of wasting Nero’s time with unnecessary talk. His release was already decided on.

Paul was living quite comfortably in two rooms he had rented in the house of a Jewish fancy goods merchant. He had aged considerably. His face was lined and he was even balder than before. According to the regulations he was, of course, in shackles, but his double guard of Praetorians allowed him to look after himself, receive guests and send letters wherever he wished.

Two pupils lived with him and he also had his own physician, a Jew called Lucas from Alexandria. As far as I could make out, Paul was quite well off, since he could afford such comfortable quarters and benevolent guards instead of the stinking communal cells of the public prison. The worst prison, the Mamertine carcer, would not have been in question for him, for he was not a State criminal.

In the documents he was naturally called Saul, which was his legal name, but to put him in a friendly mood I greeted him as Paul. He recognized me at once and returned my greeting so intimately that I thought it best to send my clerk and both lictors out of the room to avoid being suspected of recusance in the court.

“Your case is being attended to,” I told him. “It will be settled in a few days’ time. The Emperor is in a good mood before die birth of his heir. But you must control yourself when you appear before him.”

Paul smiled the smile of a man who has endured a great deal.

“I am commantled to preach the good message,” he said, “whether the moment is suitable or not.”

I asked him out of curiosity why the Praetorians considered him a magician. He told me a long story about how he and his companions had been shipwrecked on their way to Rome. The physician Lucas filled in the story when Paul grew tired. Paul assured me that the charge of insulting the temple in Jerusalem was a false one and without foundation, or at least due to a misunderstanding. Procurator Felix would have unhesitatingly released him if he had agreed to pay enough.

He had nothing but good to say of the Romans, for by taking him from Jerusalem to Caesarea they had saved his life. Forty fanatical Jews had sworn neither to eat nor drink until they had put him to death. But it was unlikely that they had starved to death, Paul said with a smile and without rancor. In fact he was grateful to his guards, for he was afraid that otherwise the faithful Jews in Rome would murder him.

I assured him that his fears were groundless, for during Claudius’ reign the Jews had had a sufficiendy stern warning and now avoided violence against the Christians within the city walls. Cephas had also had a calming influence in Rome and had persuaded the Christians to keep away from the Jews. I also added that this had been made much easier by the adherents of Jesus of Nazareth, who had now, thanks to Cephas, increased considerably in number and included very few circumcised Jews among them.

Both Lucas the physician and Paul looked sour when Cephas’ name was mentioned. Cephas had shown great friendliness to the prisoner and had offered the services of his best pupil and Greek interpreter, Marcus. Paul had evidently abused this confidence and sent Marcus on long journeys with letters to the assemblies he had founded and over which he still watched like a lion over its prey. This was probably why Cephas was no longer pleased to see the Christians in his own flock going to listen to Paul and his involved teachings.

Lucas told me that he had taken two whole years to journey around Galilee and Judaea, gathering information on the life of Jesus of Nazareth, his miracles and teachings from people who had heard him themselves. He had meticulous notes on it all in Aramaic and was seriously considering writing his own account of Jesus’ life in Greek to show that Paul knew it all just as well as Cephas. A wealthy Greek called Theophilus, whom Paul had converted to Christianity, had already promised to publish the book.

Inasfar as I could judge, they received handsome gifts from the Christian assemblies in Corinth and Asia, which Paul jealously guarded to keep them away from both the faithful Jews and other sects among the Christians. I saw that his time was filled with writing admonitory letters to them, since he did not have many followers in Rome.

I also had a feeling that he would have liked to remain in Rome after his release, but I knew only too well of the everlasting disturbances that occurred wherever he appeared. In gaining his release, which was sure to be granted, I should also be drawing the wrath of the Jews on my head, and the disunited Christians would also be at each other’s throats if he stayed in the city. So I made a cautious suggestion.

“There is not room for two cocks on the same dunghill,” I said. “For your own sake and for mine as well, it would be best if you left Rome as soon as you are released.”

Paul’s face clouded, but nevertheless he admitted that Christ had made him into an eternal wanderer who could never stay in the same place for long. Thus, to him, his imprisonment had been a testing time. He had been commantled to make everyone into disciples of Christ and was now thinking of going to the province of Baetica in Iberia, as he had earlier planned. There were several harbor towns there of Greek origin in which Greek was the main language. I urged him to travel as far as Britain if necessary.

But of course, despite my well-meaning request, Paul was unable to keep his mouth shut when he was eventually brought before Nero in the Praetorium. Nero was in a good mood and as soon as he saw Paul, he exclaimed, “Oh, the prisoner is a Jew, is he? Then I must release him. Otherwise Poppaea will be angry. She’s in her last month now and she respects the god of the Jews more than ever.”

Nero benignly allowed the water clock to be set up to measure the length of the speech for the defense and then became completely absorbed in the papers of the cases that were to follow. Paul considered himself fortunate to have this chance of clearing himself of all the charges and asked Nero to listen with patience, since the customs and religious disputes of the Jews were perhaps not familiar to him. He began from Moses and also told his own life history, describing how Jesus of Nazareth had appeared to him in the form of Christ after he had been persecuting the holy Jesus.

I slipped a report to Nero which Procurator Festus had attached to the case papers, in which he explained that he personally considered Paul a harmless fool whom too much learning had made weak in the head. King Herodes Agrippa, who understood the beliefs of the Jews best, had also suggested that Paul should be released. Nero nodded, pretending to be listening, although I do not think he understood a word of what was said.

“So I could not prevent myself from obeying the heavenly vision,” Paul said once again. “Oh, if only your eyes could be opened and you could be turned from the darkness to the light and from Satan’s kingdom to the kingdom of God. If you believed in Jesus of Nazareth then your sins would be forgiven and you would. have an inheritance among holy men.”

At that moment the water clock tinkled and Paul had to stop.

“My good man,” said Nero firmly, “I do not by any means wish you to include me in your will. I am not out to acquire the inheritance of others. Such things are but slander. You can tell the other Jews that too. You would be doing me a service-if you would take the trouble to pray to your god for my wife Poppaea Sabina. The poor woman seems to put great trust in the same god you have so convincingly just told me about.”

He ordered Paul’s shackles removed and said that they should be sent as a votive gift to the temple in Jerusalem as evidence of his good will toward the Jewish faith. I imagine the Jews were quite annoyed. For the costs. of the case, Paul himself as the appellant was responsible.

In a few days we cleared up a vast heap of unsetded lawsuits. Most of the verdicts were acquittals. The only cases left were those in which Tigellinus considered it financially advantageous that the defendant should die of old age before any verdict was pronounced. Two months later, I was relieved of my office as Praetor, my industry and incorruptibility were praised in public and I was no longer so abused behind my back as before.

Paul’s case was not one of great importance, but the trial became historically significant because of the murder of Pedanus Secundus, which caused a sensation all over Rome. Only two months later, he was brutally murdered with a dagger by one of his own slaves as he lay in his own bed. The real reason for the murder was never discovered, but I can honestly say that I do not believe my father-in-law was involved in any way.

Our old laws prescribed that if a slave murders his lord, all the slaves Under the same roof shall be put to death. This is a necessary law dictated by long experience and the demands of public security. But Pedanus had over five hundred slaves in his household and the people began to protest and obstruct their passage to the place of execution. The Senate had to be summoned to deal with the matter. The most astonishing thing, and also the clearest evidence of the decay of our customs, Was that several senators seriously wished to obstruct the law in this case. Several of Seneca’s friends said openly that in their view a slave was also a human being and that it would not be proper to punish the innocent alongside the guilty. Senator Pudens and my own father rose to their feet and opposed such cruelty. Even the slave was excused on the grounds that he had only avenged old injustices.

It was then said, with some justification, that in that case who could feel themselves safe in their own houses if Pedanus’ slaves were to be pardoned? Our forefathers had laid down the laws and had, with good reason, mistrusted even slaves born in the household and attached to their masters since childhood. Nowadays there were also slaves from wholly differing peoples with alien customs and alien gods.

Now, for the first time, it was openly intimated that in the Senate itself there were men who had secretly gone over to an alien religion and who were now trying to defend their fellow believers. At the vote, fortunately for Rome, the adherents to the law were victorious.

The crowds that had gathered about Pedanus’ house picked up stones and threatened arson. The Praetorians had to be called out to help the city police, and Nero made a stern proclamation. A double line of soldiers flanked the streets along which the five hundred were driven to the execution place.

Stones were thrown and insults shouted, but there was no real riot. A considerable number of Pedanus’ slaves seemed to be Christians, for other Christians mingled in the crowd, warning people against violence and explaining that their teaching did not allow evil to be met with evil.

One good thing about all this was that my father-in-law, Flavius Sa-binus, retrieved his office of Prefect. The Senate and the people were given something else to talk about; Poppaea’s pregnancy began to arouse a certain compassion among fainthearted people.

Nero wanted his child to be born in Antium, where he himself had been born. Perhaps he thought that such a happy event would cleanse the estate he had inherited from Agrippina of its sorrowful memories. Certainly he considered Rome in the heat of summer and with its many smells an unhealthy place for the delivery.

Before Poppaea went to Antium, I had the pleasure of meeting her again. Pregnancy had not spoiled her beauty, and her eyes had a gentle brilliance which gave her a mild and feminine expression.

“Is it true,” I said carefully, “that you’ve begun to worship the Jewish god? That’s what they say in Rome. They say you’ve made Nero favor the Jews at the expense of others.”

“You must admit,” replied Poppaea, “that the Jewish prophecy has come true. When things were at their most difficult for me, in order to secure my position I promised always to respect their god, who is so powerful that there is not even an image of him. And Moses too. I’d never even dare go to Antium for the delivery of our child if I couldn’t take a Jewish physician with me. I’m taking several wise old Jewish women, too, and of course a trained Greek and Roman physician as well, for safety’s sake.”

“Have you heard mention of Jesus of Nazareth, too?” I asked. “The king of the Jews?”

“I know there are several different kinds of holy men among the Jews,” said Poppaea. “They have strict laws, but a devout woman in my position doesn’t have to bother about the laws so much as long as I just acknowledge the horned Moses and don’t drink blood.”

I realized that her ideas about the Jewish faith were just as vague as those of most other Romans, who quite simply could not imagine a god without an image. A weight fell from my heart. If Poppaea had known that the Jews hated Paul like the plague, she would hardly have thanked Nero and me for releasing Paul to continue causing bitter dissension among the Jews.

So Poppaea went to Antium and I hoped her child would be born soon, for Nero was a trying companion during the period of waiting. When he sang, he had to be congratulated. When he drove his chariot, he had to be praised for his skill. He began meeting Acte again in secret and had temporary relations with noble ladies who were not very particular about the sanctity of marriage. Tigellinus introduced him to his favorite boys. When we discussed this, Nero pointed to the example of the Greeks and justified his actions.

“When the goblet was knocked from my hand,” he argued, “I became a holy man. It was an omen that I shall be proclaimed a god after my death. The gods are bisexual. I shouldn’t feel myself completely godlike if I could not love handsome boys for amusement. Anyhow, Poppaea prefers me to play about with boys, if I must, rather than with ambitious women. Then she feels she needn’t be jealous and always afraid I’ll go and make someone pregnant by mistake.”

I saw my son Jucundus only seldom. Barbus had moved from my house and settled at Tullia’s, as he considered himself the boy’s mentor. This was necessary, because Tullia spoiled Jucundus and let him do whatever he wanted. He became more and more of a stranger to me.

I was tolerated in my wife Sabina’s house only when she wanted money. Little Lausus was a stranger. He was surprisingly dark-skinned and curly-haired. I felt no desire to take him in my arms and play with him and Sabina reproached me and said I was an unnatural father.

I remarked that the boy seemed to have more than enough fathers to play with among the animal trainers. This was true. If I ever expressed a desire to see the boy, Epaphroditus at once appeared and came forward to show how much Lausus preferred him. Sabina turned pale with rage and demantled that at least in the presence of others I should not make such unsuitable jokes.

She had her own circle of friends among the noble ladies who took their children with them to see the animals and the bold tricks of the animal trainers. It was fashionable in noble households to keep gazelles and leopards, and I had a great deal of trouble with unscrupulous rogues who contravened my sole rights and imported these animals into the city to sell at lower prices. Wild British bloodhounds were also brought to Rome and I received good prices for their puppies.

In the end, Poppaea gave birth to a well-formed daughter, and Nero was just as delighted as if he had had a son. He smothered Poppaea with presents and behaved in every way like a young father dazed with happiness.

The whole of the Senate went to Antium to present their good wishes, as did everyone who thought himself of importance in Rome. The river boats and the ships from Ostia were packed. The wretched road from Aricia to Antium was so choked with vehicles and sedans that the traffic moved intolerably slowly. One of my freedmen made a fortune by setting up temporary accommodation and catering places along the roadside.

The infant was given the name of Claudia and also the name of honor, Augusta. At the wine-goblet ceremony some simple-minded person happened to suggest that Poppaea Sabina should be honored in the same way and no one dared oppose the suggestion, as Nero himself was present. Poppaea Sabina sent some sacred articles of gold as a thank-offering to the temple in Jerusalem and her Jewish physician received Roman citizenship.

For my part, I had been prepared well ahead. During the days of thanksgiving, we arranged such a brilliant display of animal fights in the wooden theater that in the eyes of the people, they for once outshone the races in the great circus, although I say it myself. The Vestal Virgins honored my displays with their presence and I heard people say that I had developed the training of wild animals to a fine art.

Sabina drove around the arena dressed as an Amazon in a gilded chariot drawn by four lions, receiving on my behalf the overwhelming applause of the spectators. With tremendous difficulty, I had managed to acquire some giant hairy apes in place of the ones that had died. I wanted to have them when they were quite small, and they were reared and trained by yellow-skinned dwarfs who in darkest Africa live with the giant apes.

These apes could use stones and cudgels when they fought against each other. The most teachable of them were dressed as gladiators, and some of the spectators thought they were men and not animals. There were quarrels about it in the stands, which ended in a brawl in which one citizen was killed and a dozen or so injured. So the whole performance was as successful as one could have wished for.

This time I at last received compensation for the money I had laid out and lost. Seneca no longer kept his miserly eye on the State treasury nnil Nero neither understood finance nor was entirely clear on the difference between the State treasury and the Emperor’s fiscus. So I charged them both and, with the help of my freedmen, put the money into apartments in Rome and land in Caere.

But Nero’s happiness as a father did not last long. It was a wet autumn and the Tiber rose alarmingly, its poisonous vapors spreading a throat infection all over the city which was not fatal for adults but from which infants died in great numbers.

Even Nero sickened of it, became so hoarse that he could hardly say a word and feared that he had lost his singing voice for ever. Sacrifices of atonement for his voice were made in all the temples, both by the State and by individuals. But hardly had he begun to get better when his daughter fell ill and died within a few days, in spite of the doctors’ efforts and intercessions by the Jews. Poppaea was dazed with lack of sleep and grief and furiously accused Nero for embracing and kissing his child all day and every day, in spite of his sore throat.

Nero was under the superstitious impression that the public and private sacrifices had not been sufficient to appease the gods and save his voice. The gods had also demantled his daughter. This strengthened his conviction that it was intended that he should become the greatest artist of his time, and this lessened his grief.

The shaken Senate immediately bestowed the rank of goddess on Claudia Augusta, with the accompanying cushion at her funeral. They also decided to build a temple in her honor and formed a special pontifex priesthood for the purpose. Nero was secretly convinced that it was in fact his voice which was to be worshiped in the new temple and that the sacrifices would make his voice even finer.

So the new priesthood had a special secret ritual, over and above the official sacrifices, which was not allowed to be revealed to outsiders. Nero’s voice did in fact become much stronger, just as it had after Agrippina’s death, and it now sounded both resonant and as sweet as honey so that audiences were deeply moved. I myself was not deeply moved when I heard him, but I am just repeating what more knowledgeable judges than I assured him.

Nero put on weight and let his cheeks and chin fill out when he was told that the strongest tenor voices needed plenty of flesh on the bones to withstand the strain of singing. Poppaea was only too pleased that he spent his time on singing exercises rather than on more dissolute activities.

After the death of his daughter, Nero concentrated all winter on training his voice, to the extent that matters of State became merely an unnecessary worry to him. He neglected the meetings of the Senate because he was afraid of catching cold on the icy floor of the Curia. When he arrived at a meeting, he came with his feet wrapped in wool and usually on foot, and he always rose humbly from his place when the Consul addressed him. After his first sneeze, he left hurriedly, leaving important matters to be settled in the Senate committees.

One day during the winter, shortly before the feast of Saturnalia, Claudia said that she must see me, for she had an important matter to discuss which was for my ears alone. When I had completed my daily business with my clients and freedmen, I allowed her to come into my room, fearing that once again she was going to start talking about repentance and Christian baptism.

But Claudia was wringing her hands.

“Oh, Minutus,” she wailed, “I am prey to contending feelings. I am flung hither and thither and feel like a piece of chewed string. I’ve done something which I’ve not dared tell you about. But look at me first. Do you think I have changed in any way?”

To be honest, she had at times been so repugnant to me because of her intolerable chatter and her Christian knowingness, that I had not even wanted to look at her. But warmed by her submissiveness, I now looked at her a little more closely and saw to my surprise that the sunburn from her time as a slave had vanished from her soft-skinned face. She was well dressed and her hair was set in the latest Greek fashion.

I clapped my hands together in surprise and cried with genuine flattery, “You look like the most noble of Roman ladies with your figure and fine posture. I suspect you’ve been bathing your face in ass’s milk in secret.”

Claudia flushed deeply.

“It’s not from vanity that I’ve looked after my appearance,” she said hurriedly, “but because you have entrusted me with your large household. Modesty and unpretentiousness are a woman’s best adornment, but your clients and the meat traders of the Basilica don’t wish to believe that. What I meant was, do you see any resemblance to Emperor Claudius in my face?”

“No, of course not,” I said at once, to calm her. “You needn’t worry about that. Old man Claudius’ looks were nothing to boast about. But you’ve grown into a beautiful woman, especially now you’ve had your eyebrows plucked.”

Claudia was obviously disappointed by my words.

“You’re wrong, I’m sure,” she said sullenly. “Aunt Paulina and I have secretly been to-see my younger half sister, Antonia, out of pity for her lonely existence. Claudius had her first husband murdered and Nero her second, so no one dares to be seen with her now she has returned from Massilia. Her sufferings have taught her to see things from another viewpoint now. She offered us mead and fruit tart and gave me a gold hairnet. As things are now, she would perhaps be prepared to acknowledge me as her legal sister. She and I are the only genuine Clau-dians left.”

I was appalled when I saw that because of her feminine ambitions she was still attached to her imaginary vanities. She looked at me with her strangely glowing eyes, sighing deeply so that her full bosom rose, and then she seized my hand in both hers so I backed away in alarm.

“What is it you really want, unhappy Claudia?” I asked.

“Minutus,” she said, “you must know yourself that your life cannot go on as hitherto. Your marriage to Sabina is no real marriage. You are stupid if you’ve not grasped that. All Rome laughs at it. In your youth you made a certain promise to me. Now you are a grown man, the age difference between us is no longer as great as it seemed then. In fact it is scarcely noticeable. Minutus, you must separate from Sabina for your own standing’s sake.”

I felt like a wild animal trapped in a corner of the cage and threatened with red-hot irons.

“You can’t be serious,” I protested. “The Christian superstition must have confused your head. I’ve been afraid of this for a long time.”

Claudia stared at me. “A Christian must eschew all surface life. But Jesus of Nazareth himself is supposed to have said that a man who looks at a woman with desire commits adultery with her in his heart. I heard that quite recently. This knowledge is like a festering sore in my heart, for I realize that it is also so for a woman. So my life is becoming intolerable for me when I see you every day and cannot do so without feeling desire in my heart. At night I twist and turn without rest in my bed and I bite my pillow with yearning.”

I could not help but be flattered by her words. I looked at her with quite new eyes.

“Why have you said nothing before?” I asked. “Out of sheer mercy I would have come and slept with you any night. But such a thought never occurred to me because of your own disagreeable attitude.”

Claudia shook her head violently.

“I don’t need your mercy,” she said. “I should be committing a sin if I went to your bed without the bonds of marriage. To suggest such a thing shows how you’ve hardened your heart and how little you value me.”

I could not in all decency remind her of how low she had sunk at the time when I had found her, and her ideas were so insane that I was struck dumb with alarm.

“Antonia,” she went on, “would swear the most sacred oath before the Vestals that I am the legitimate daughter of Claudius and of the same blood as she. She’s almost certain to be willing to do that, if only to annoy Nero. Then a marriage with me would not be entirely worthless to you. If we had a child, the Vestals would know of his noble descent. If the situation changes, a son of ours could rise to the highest office in Rome. Antonia is very sad that she was childless in both her marriages.”

“How can a dead tree put out new shoots?” I cried. “Remember what you’ve been through.”

“There’s nothing wrong with me as a woman,” said Claudia indignantly. “My own body tells me that each month. I’ve told you, I am cleansed of my past. You too could convince yourself of that if you only wished to.”

When I tried to flee from the room, she seized hold of me and I do not know how we came to touch each other as we struggled together, but old wounds irritate and I had not slept with a woman for a long time. Within a short time we were kissing, and once Claudia had me in her arms, she lost control of herself completely. Afterwards she did cry, but nevertheless held on to me hard.

“My lack of virtue shows that I am of the depraved Claudius’ blood,” she said, “but now you have once again caused me to sin, you must make amends. If you are a man, at least you’ll go straight to Sabina and speak to her about a divorce.”

“But I have a son with her,” I protested. “The Flavians would never forgive me. Sabina’s father is the City Prefect. My position would be untenable in every way.”

“I don’t want to defame Sabina,” said Claudia quietly, “but there are Christians among the employees at the menagerie and Sabina’s loose way of life there is a subject of general conversation.”

I had to laugh.

“Sabina is a cold and sexless woman,” I said contemptuously and confidently. “I should know best. No, I couldn’t find a single tenable reason for divorce, for she doesn’t mind in the slightest if I satisfy myself with other women. And more than anything else, I know that she would never part from the lions in the menagerie. She’s more fond of them than she is of me.”

“But nothing need prevent her staying on at the menagerie,” said Claudia. “She’s got her own house there, which you seldom go to nowadays. You can be friends, even if separated. Tell her that you know everything, but you want a divorce without a public scandal. The boy can keep your name, as you once legitimatized him in a weak moment and now can’t retract.”

“Are you trying to imply that Lausus is not my son?” I said. “I didn’t think you were so wicked. Where is your Christian good will?”

Claudia lost her temper completely.

“Every single person in Rome knows he’s not your son,” she shrieked. “Sabina has slept with animal trainers and slaves and probably with the apes too, and she’s involved other noble ladies in her depravity. Nero laughs at you on the sly, not to speak of your other nice friends.”

I picked up my toga from the floor, swept it around me and arranged the folds as carefully as I could with my hands trembling with rage.

“Just to show you how much your malicious talk is worth,” I said, “I’ll go and speak to Sabina. Then I’ll come back and have you beaten for being a bad housekeeper and a poisonous gossip. You can go to your Christians in the same slave rags you came here in.”

I rushed straight off to the menagerie with my toga flapping, as if pursued by furies, so that I neither saw the crowds in the street nor returned any greetings. I did not even have myself announced to my wife, but just burst straight into her room without taking any notice of the efforts of the slaves to stop me.

Sabina freed herself from the arms of Epaphroditus and rushed up, raging like a lion and her eyes flashing.

“What a way to behave, Minutus!” she cried. “Have you lost the last shreds of your reason? As you saw, I was just taking a mote out of Epaphroditus’ eye with my tongue. He’s half blinded and can’t begin training the lion we’ve just got from Numidia.”

“I saw with my own eyes,” I snapped back, “that it was more likely he was looking for a certain place in you. Fetch my sword and I’ll kill this shameless slave who has spat on my marriage bed.”

Hiding her nakedness, Sabina hurried over to shut the door and order the slaves to go away.

“You know we always wear as little as possible when we’re practicing,” she said. “Flapping clothes only irritate the lions. You saw wrong. You must beg Epaphroditus’ pardon at once for calling him a slave. He received his freedman’s stave a long time ago, and his Roman citizenship too, from the hand of the Emperor himself for his exploits in the amphitheater.”

Only half convinced, I went on calling shrilly for my sword.

“I here and now demand an explanation from you for the shameful rumors about you going around Rome,” I said. “Tomorrow I shall appeal to the Emperor for a divorce.”

Sabina stiffened and looked meaningly at Epaphroditus.

“Strangle him,” she said coldly. “We’ll roll him up in a rug and take him out to the lions’ cages. Others besides him have had accidents playing with the lions.”

Epaphroditus approached with his huge fists outstretched. He was very powerfully built and a whole head taller than I. In the middle of my righteous rage, I began seriously to fear for my life.

“Now, don’t misunderstand me, Sabina,” I said hastily. “Why should I want to insult the father of my son? Epaphroditus is a citizen and an equal. Let us settle this between us. I’m sure none of us wants a public scandal.”

“I’m a hard man,” said Epaphroditus appeasingly, “but I don’t really wish to kill your husband, Sabina. He has always overlooked our relationship and he probably has his own reasons for wanting a divorce. You yourself have many a time sighed for your freedom, so be sensible now, Sabina.”

But Sabina mocked him.

“Are your knees shaking at the sight of a lame old battle-scarred ruin, you great man, you?” she said scornfully. “Hercules save us, the best thing on you is greater than your courage. Don’t you see it’d be better simply to strangle him now and inherit what he’s got, than be disgraced for his sake?”

Epaphroditus avoided my eyes and carefully grasped my neck in such an iron grip that it was pointless to struggle. My voice choked and everything began to swim before my eyes, but I tried to indicate that I wished to bargain with them over whatever my life was worth. Epaphroditus slackened his grip.

“Naturally you can keep your property and your position in the menagerie,” I managed to croak, “if we separate like sensible people. My dear Sabina, forgive my hasty temper. Your son will bear my name and receive his share of the inheritance from me in time. Because of the love which once bound us together, I don’t wish to make you guilty of a crime, for in some way or other you would be found out. Let us have some wine brought in and take a conciliatory meal together, you and I and my foster brother-in-law, the strength of whose limbs I have the greatest respect for.”

Epaphroditus suddenly burst into tears and embraced me.

“No, no,” he cried. “I could not possibly strangle you. Let us be friends, the three of us. It will he a great honor for me if you really wish to eat at the same table with me.”

I too had tears of pain and relief in my eyes.

“It’s the least I can do,” I exclaimed. “I have already shared my wife with you. So your honor is also mine.”

When Sabina saw us embracing so intimately, she also came to her senses. We had the best the house could provide brought out, drank wine together and even called in the boy so that Epaphroditus could talk to him and hold him in his arms. Now and again a cold shiver went down my spine as I thought of what might have happened because of my own stupidity, but then the wine calmed me again.

When we had drunk a good deal, I was seized with melancholy.

“How could everything end like this?” I asked Sabina, “when we were so happy together at first and I was so blindly in love with you?”

“You’ve never understood my inner nature, Minutus,” said Sabina. “But I don’t reproach you for it and I regret my wicked words that time I insulted your manhood. If only you’d blacked my eye occasionally as I did to you the first time we met, if you’d whipped me sometimes, then everything might have been different. Do you remember how I asked you to take me by force on our wedding night? But there’s nothing in you of the ravisher’s wonderful overwhelming masculinity, that does as it likes however much one struggles or kicks or bites or threatens to scream.”

“I’ve always thought,” I said, dumbfounded, “that what a woman wants of love more than anything else is tenderness and security.”

Sabina shook her head pityingly.

“That delusion,” she replied, “only goes to show how childish you are when it comes to understanding women.”

When we had agreed on necessary financial measures and I had repeatedly praised Epaphroditus as a man of honor and the greatest artist in his line, I walked to Flavius Sabinus’ house, fortified by the wine, to inform him of the divorce. To be honest, I was almost more frightened of his anger than of Sabina.

“I have long noted that all was not well with your marriage,” he said, avoiding my eyes. “But I do hope you’ll not let the divorce influence the mutual respect and friendship which has developed between us two. I’d be in a dilemma, for instance, if you foreclosed the loan you have made me. We Flavians are not so wealthy as one might wish. My brother Vespasian is said to be supporting himself by dealing in mules. As Proconsul in Africa, he became poorer than ever. The peo-pie there seem to have bombarded him with turnips. I’m afraid he’ll be forced to leave the Senate if the Censor notices he is not fulfilling the conditions of wealth.”

Nero had unexpectedly gone to Naples after taking it into his head that Naples was the place for his first great public appearance as a singer, since the audience there is of Greek descent and thus more sympathetic to art than the Romans. Despite his artist’s self-confidence, Nero was panic-stricken before every performance and trembled and sweated to such an extent that he had to have his own paid applauders who could lead the audience in the first liberating rounds of applause.

I hurriedly traveled after him, which was necessary anyway to my office. The lovely theater in Naples was full to bursting and Nero’s splendid voice sent the audience into ecstasies. Several visitors from Alexandria were especially noticeable, for they expressed their delight in their own countrymen’s way by clapping rhythmically.

In the middle of a performance the theater was shaken by a sudden earth tremor. Panic began to spread in the audience, but Nero continued to sing as if nothing had happened. He received much praise for his self-control, for the audience took courage from his fearlessness. He himself told me afterwards that he had been so absorbed in his singing that he had not even noticed the tremor.

He was so delighted with his success that he appeared at the theater for several days running and finally the city council had to bribe his singing tutor to warn him against overstraining his incomparable voice, for the daily life of the city and trade ai\d sea-trade were being disrupted by his appearances. He rewarded the Alexandrians for their sound judgment by giving them presents as well as Roman citizenship, and he decided to go to Alexandria as soon as possible and appear before a public which was worthy of him.

When at a suitable moment I praised his brilliant artistic success, Nero asked me, “Do you think that if I weren’t the Emperor, I could support myself as an artist anywhere in the world?”

I assured him that as an artist he would certainly be both freer and in some ways wealthier than as Emperor, for as Emperor he had to fight for every Sta’te grant with his miserly Procurators. I said that it was my duty after my time as Praetor to pay for a theater performance for the people, but that in my opinion, there was no sufficiendy good singer in Rome. So with a feigned shyness, I made a suggestion.

“If you would appear at a performance,” I said, “which I would pay for, then my popularity would be assured. I’d pay you a million sesterces as a fee and naturally you can choose the play yourself.”

As far as I know, this was the highest fee ever offered any singer for a single performance. Even Nero was surprised.

“Do you really mean that you consider my voice worth a million sesterces,” he asked, “and that you’ll win the favor of the people with its help?”

I told him that if he would agree, it would be the greatest mark of favor I could think of. Nero frowned and pretended to meditate on his many duties.

“I must appear dressed as an actor,” he said finally, “with cothurni on my feet and a mask on my face. But to please you, I can of course have the mask made to look like myself. Let us test the artistic tastes of Rome. I won’t announce my name until after the performance. I’ll accept your invitation on those conditions. I think I’ll choose the part of Orestes, for I’ve long wanted to sing that. I should think the pent-up strength of my feelings would shake even the hardened audiences of Rome.”

His vanity as an artist drove him expressly to perform this role of a matricide, to allow his own feelings to run high. In some ways I understood him. By writing an amusing book, I had freed myself of my experiences as a prisoner which had driven me to the borders of insanity. For Nero, the murder of Agrippina had been a perturbing experience of which he was trying to free himself by singing. But I was afraid that I had exposed myself to considerable danger by inviting him to do this. It could happen that the audience would not recognize Nero and would not show their appreciation sufficiently.

Worse could happen too. A mask resembling Nero in the part of a matricide might result in the audience misunderstanding the intention. The performance might be taken as a demonstration against Nero and it could sweep the audience away with it. Then I would be lost. Other people might begin to believe the rumors about Nero, and then the result would be a riot with many people killed.

So there was nothing else to do but secretly to spread it about that Nero himself was thinking of appearing as Orestes in my theater performance. Many of the more old-fashioned members of the Senate and the Noble Order of Knights refused to believe that an Emperor would degrade himself to the level of a professional jester and thus knowingly make a fool of himself. The choice of program also made them look on the rumor as an ill-considered joke.

Fortunately Tigellinus and I had mutual advantages to be gained in this matter. Tigellinus ordered a cohort of Praetorians to keep order in the theater and applaud at certain times in the performance, carefully following Nero’s own professional applauders’ example. Several young knights who understood music and singing and would not make the mistake of applauding in the wrong places were appointed leaders of the groups. All the applauders had to practice humming with delight, clapping with cupped hands so that it echoed, making loud claps and sighing wistfully in appropriate places.

Rumors of a political demonstration brought a huge audience who otherwise would hardly have bothered to honor my office of Praetor with their presence. The crowd was so immense that several people were trampled underfoot at the entrances, and some of the older senators’ powerful slaves had to fight their way through to carry their masters to the Senate’s seats of honor. It was just like one of the best days at the races.

Nero himself was so nervous and tense that he was violendy sick before the performance and kept dosing his throat with drinks recommended by his tutor to strengthen his vocal cords. But I must admit he gave a brilliant performance once he was onstage. His powerful voice rang through the theater into a good twenty thousand pairs of ears. He was so engrossed in his cruel role that some of the more sensitive women fainted from emotion in the crush.

The humming, the sighs and clapping came in the right places. The usual audience joined willingly in the applause. But when Nero rushed onto the stage at the end with bloodstained hands, the sounds of loud catcalls, crowing and uproar came from the seats of senators and knights and not even the loudest applause could drown it. I thought my last moment had come when, with shaking knees, I staggered backstage to accompany the unmasked Nero on to inform the people that it had been the Emperor himself who had appeared before them. But to my great astonishment, Nero was weeping with joy as he stood there, drenched with sweat and his face distorted with fatigue.

“Did you notice how I got the crowd with me?” he said. “They catcalled and crowed at Orestes to bring the penalty for matricide down on his head. I don’t think such complete entering into the spirit by an audience has ever happened before.”

Wiping the sweat away and smiling triumphantly, Nero stepped forward to receive the applause, which swelled to thunderous proportions when I announced that it had been the Emperor in person performing in the play. The crowd shouted as one man that he should sing again.

I had the honor of taking Nero’s cittern to him. He sang willingly and accompanied himself to show his skill on the cittern until it grew so dark that one could no longer discern his face. Not until then did he reluctantly finish, but he had it announced that he would appear before the people in future, should they so wish it.

When I handed him the money order for one million sesterces, I told him I had arranged for a thank-offering to be made to his own genius, to his dead daughter and also, for safety’s sake, to Apollo.

“Though I think you’ve already surpassed Apollo and no longer need his support,” I added.

While he was still overflowing with joy, I made a passing request that he should quietly dissolve my marriage, on the grounds of irreconcilable incompatibility between Sabina and myself, who both wished for a divorce and had our parents’ approval of it.

Nero said with a laugh that he had long since realized that it was only from sheer depravity that I had for so long continued my strange marriage. He asked inquisitively if it were true that Sabina had sexual intercourse with the giant African apes, as it was said in the city, intimating that he himself would have no objection to watching such a performance in secret. I asked him to consult Sabina directly on the matter, since she and I were so hostile that we did not even wish to speak to one another. Nero asked that, divorce notwithstanding, I should allow Sabina to continue to perform in the amphitheater for the entertainment of the people. I received the divorce papers the following morning and did not even have to pay the usual fee for them.

My reputation became one of a bold and unscrupulous man, as Nero’s performance as Orestes aroused surprise and endless discussion. At this time, Nero’s enemies began to invent ugly stories about him founded on the same basis he himself had used when he had announced Octavia’s adultery: “The greater the lie, the more easily it will be believed,” he had said.

This was a truth which turned back on himself, for the more shameless the invention about Nero, the more willing the people were to believe it. True accounts of his many good deeds aroused little interest.

Not that Rome’s rulers had not lied to the people before. The god Julius was forced to establish a daily written proclamation to counteract his lack of esteem, not to mention the god Augustus whose handsome burial inscription fails to mention innumerable crimes.

By staking my life to acquire a divorce, I nevertheless landed myself in a dilemma. The divorce offered relief in that I was free of Sabina’s domination. But naturally I could not even consider marrying Claudia. In my own opinion, she exaggerated absurdly the significance of the bagatelle that we had happened to sleep together by chance attraction in the days of our youth.

I told her straight out that I did not consider that a man had to marry every woman who of her own free will fell into his arms. In that case, no sane relationship between human beings would be possible. In my opinion, what had happened was neither sinful nor degrading to her.

Not even Christ himself during his life on earth had wished to judge an adulteress, for he said that those who accused her were as guilty as she was. I had heard this said of him. But Claudia was angry and said that she knew the stories about Christ better than I did, having heard them from Cephas’ own mouth. She had fallen once and sinned with me, so she was sinful and felt even more sinful every time she saw me.

So I tried to avoid her as best I could, so that she would not be forced to see me too much. I devoted my time to new business deals to further my own position and calm my fears. One of my freedmen made me realize that the really great fortunes lay in the grain trade and the importation of cooking oil. Compared with these fundamental needs, silk from China, spices from India and other luxury goods for the rich nobility are mere trivialities. Thanks to my dealings in wild animals, I already had good trade connections with Africa and Iberia. Through my friendship with Fenius Rufus, I received a share in the grain trade, and my freedman himself traveled to Iberia to set up a buying office for olive oil.

In connection with these matters, I often visited Ostia and I saw that a whole new and beautifully built town had grown up there. I had long been irritated by Claudia’s accusations that I made criminal profits out of my tenements in Subura and on the circus side of Aventine. She considered that the tenants there lived in inhumanly crowded, dirty and unhealthy conditions. I realized that the poor Christians had been complaining to her to have the rents lowered.

If I had lowered the rents, the rush to my properties would have been even greater and all the other landlords would have angrily accused me of unfair undercutting. I could also see that the buildings were in wretched condition and to repair them would have meant great expenditure at a time when I needed all my ready money and had to apply for loans to finance my grain and oil enterprises. So I made a swift decision, sold a great many blocks of tenements all at once and instead bought several cheap empty sites on the outskirts of Ostia.

But Claudia reproached me bitterly and said that I had put the tenants in an even worse position than before. Their new landlords made no repairs but simply raised the rents to retrieve the huge sums they had paid me for the buildings. I told Claudia that she had not the slightest grasp of finance, but just wasted my money on charity which did not bring in anything, not even popularity. The Christians consider that it is natural to help the poor and they themselves thank only Christ for the help they receive.

Claudia on her part reproached me for wasting enormous sums of money on godless theater performances. She did not even differentiate between drama and animal displays in the amphitheater and she would not even listen to me when I tried to explain that it was my duty because of my rank of Praetor and my father’s position as senator. The favor of the public was necessary for a man in my position. The Christians are mostly slaves and rabble without citizenship.

I could not silence Claudia until I told her she was obviously not a genuine Claudian. Her father had been so passionately fond of displays in the amphitheater that he would not even go and take a meal while the wild animals tore the condemned to pieces, although respectable people usually went out for a meal at that time and left the amphitheater for a while. Nero, who was more humane, had early in his reign forbidden the throwing of the condemned to the animals and no longer allowed the professional gladiators to fight to the last drop of blood.

I admit that I occasionally used Claudia’s womanly weakness to silence her eternal talk. I closed her mouth with kisses and caressed her until she could no longer resist the temptation and laughingly threw herself into my arms. But afterwards she was more melancholy than ever and even threatened me with the anger of her half-sister Antonia if I did not expiate my sins by marrying her. As if Antonia’s anger had any political significance any longer.

When we were together in this way, I gave no thought to taking precautions. I knew about Claudia’s experiences in Misenium even if I did not wish to think about them, as I had been in some way responsible. But if I thought about it at all, it was in terms of the proverb which says that no grass grows on public ways.

So my surprise and horror were all the greater when on my return from Ostia one day, Claudia took me secretively to one side and with her eyes shining with pride, whispered in my ear that she was pregnant by me. I did not believe her and said she was a victim of her imagination or of some woman’s sickness. I hastily summoned a Greek physician who had studied in Alexandria, but did not even believe him when he assured me that Claudia had not been wrong. On the contrary, he said, her urine had swiftly caused a grain of oats to germinate, a sure sign of pregnancy.

When I returned home to my house on Aventine one evening, in a reasonable mood and quite unsuspecting, I found in my own reception rooms both Claudius’ daughter, Antonia, and old Paulina, whom I had not seen since my departure to Achaia. She had grown very thin from so much fasting and was still dressed in black as before. Her old eyes shone with a supernatural brilliance.

Antonia presumably felt uncomfortable meeting me, but she retained her haughty poise and held her head high. While I was wondering whether I should offer belated condolences for her husband’s sudden departure, Aunt Paulina suddenly spoke.

“You have neglected your duty to Claudia,” she said sternly. “In the name of Christ, I demand that you immediately undergo legal marriage with her. If you have no fear of God, then you shall fear the Plautians. The reputation of the family is at stake.”

“I cannot admire your behavior toward my half sister,” added Antonia. “Neither would I wish for such an undesirable husband for her. But she is pregnant because you have seduced her, and so it can’t be helped.”

“Do you believe that insane story of her descent too?” I said in surprise. “You, who are a sensible woman. Claudius never legitimatized her.”

“That was for political reasons,” said Antonia. “My father Claudius separated from Plautia Urgulanilla in order to marry my mother, Aelia, who was Sejanus’ adoptive daughter, as you know. Claudia was born five months after the divorce and out of consideration for my mother, Sejanus considered it unsuitable to give her the legal position of daughter of the Emperor. You know how influential Sejanus was then. It was to win his favor that Claudius married my mother. I remember that she many a time deplored my father’s behavior. But there was much talk about Claudia’s mother. I was much too proud even to acknowledge Claudia as my half sister in secret. But there is little left of my pride and so I feel the need to make good the injustice I did Claudia.”

“Have you too become a Christian?” I asked sarcastically.

My question made Antonia blush.

“I am not yet initiated,” she said, “but I allow the slaves in my house to worship Christ. I understand you do the same. And I do not wish the ancient line of Claudians to die out with me. I am prepared to adopt your child if necessary, if you are not content with less. It might give Nero and Poppaea something to think about.”

I realized she was doing this more from hatred for Nero than from love of Claudia.

“On her deathbed,” put in Aunt Paulina now, “Urgulanilla swore the most solemn oath that Claudia was truly Claudius’ daughter. I was not a great friend of Urgulanilla, because of her depraved life in later years. But I do not believe any woman on her deathbed could perjure herself on such a serious matter. The difficulty from the very beginning has been that you who are of the Noble Order of Knights did not consider that you could marry a bastard. For the same reasons and for fear of Claudius, my husband refused to adopt Claudia. But in fact Claudia is legally both a Roman citizen and was born in wedlock. That would be incontestable if she hadn’t been the Emperor’s daughter.”

Claudia now burst out weeping.

“I don’t think my poor father even really hated me,” she cried. “In his weakness he was probably so influenced by the luckless Messalina, and then by the wicked Agrippina, that he dared not acknowledge me as his daughter even if he had wished to. In my heart, I have forgiven him that.”

When I in all seriousness considered the legal complications of the matter, I remembered how ingeniously I had made Jucundus into a Roman citizen by birth.

“Claudia was forced to live hidden in a country town for many years,” I said thoughtfully. “It would not be utterly impossible to have her name put on the roll of citizens in some distant town as daughter of a deceased father A and mother B, if one chose a town in which, for instance, a fire had destroyed the archives. There are millions of citizens in many different countries, and we all know that several unscrupulous immigrant Romans maintain they possess citizenship without being charged, because these things are nowadays difficult to prove otherwise. In that way, I should be able to marry Claudia.”

“Don’t try any alphabets on me,” said Claudia angrily. “My father was Tiberius Claudius Drusus and my mother was Plautia Urgulanilla. But thank you for agreeing to marry me. I accept your word as a proposal. And I have two respected witnesses to your suggestion.”

Paulina and Antonia hurried smilingly to congratulate me. I realized I had fallen into a trap, although I had really only been speaking theoretically about a legal problem. After a brief struggle, we agreed to draw up a document referring to Claudia’s descent, and this Antonia and Paulina would deposit as an unconditionally secret paper in the archives of the Vestals.

We decided that the wedding would take place quietly without sacrifices or festivities, and in the citizens’ roll Claudia’s name would go down as Plautia Claudia Urgulanilla. It was left to me to see to it that the registration authorities did not ask any unnecessary questions. Claudia’s position would in itself not change, for she had already managed my household for a long time.

I agreed to everything with a heavy heart, for I could hardly do otherwise. I was afraid I had now involved myself in a political intrigue against Nero. Aunt Paulina almost certainly had no such idea, but with Antonia it was different.

“I am several years younger than Claudia,” she said finally, “but Nero will not permit me to marry again. No man sufficiently noble would dare to marry me if he remembers what happened to Cornelius Sulla. Perhaps everything would have been different if Sulla had not been such a fumbling idiot. But he could not help himself. So I am glad on Claudia’s behalf that she as an Emperor’s legal daughter may marry, even if in secret. Your cunning, my dear Minutus, your unscrupulous-ness and your wealth will perhaps compensate for the other qualities I should have wished to see in Claudia’s husband. Remember that you are binding yourelf to both the Claudians and the Plautians by this marriage.”

Paulina and Claudia asked us to pray together with them in the name of Christ for the blessing on our marriage. Antonia smiled contemptuously.

“A name is a name,” she said, “if you believe in the power of it. I myself support him because I know how bitterly the Jews hate him. The Jews are in favor at the court at this moment to an intolerable degree. Poppaea helps them into office and Nero showers insane gifts onto a Jewish pantomimic, although he insolently refuses to appear on Saturdays.”

The proud Antonia in her bitterness obviously had no thought for anything but opposing Nero by every means. Even if she had no influence, she could be a dangerous woman. I thanked my stars that she had had the sense to come to my house after dark in a sedan with drawn curtains.

But I was so oppressed that I humbled myself to the extent of taking part in Christian prayers and praying for forgiveness of my sins. I thought that I needed all the heavenly help I could get in this matter. Cephas and Paul and several other holy Christian men had been able to perform miracles on the strength of the name of Jesus of Nazareth. I went so far that together with Claudia, after our guests had gone, I drank from my father’s goblet before we went to bed, for once reconciled with each other.

After that we slept together as if we were already married, and no one in the household took much notice. I cannot deny that my vanity was flattered by sharing my bed with the daughter of an Emperor. So I was attentive to Claudia and submitted myself to her caprices during her pregnancy. The result was that the Christians got a firm foothold in my house. Their cries of praise echoed from morning to night so loudly that our nearest neighbors were disturbed.