Nero Page 12

  'Chryse is only a girl. Perhaps she made a mistake. Misinterpreted.'

  'No mistake. And Chryse's sharp as a needle.'

  'Tell us, then,' I said.

  Acte shrugged. 'Not much to tell. Agrippina came round after dinner, when Lucius was three parts drunk, dressed up like a third-rate Damascus whore. She seduced him. Had him right there on the dining-room couch. She's been having him ever since.'

  There was silence.

  'So that's it, Petronius,' Burrus said at last. 'What do we do?'

  I shook my head. 'I'm sorry, but I don't believe it. The emperor's no fool, drunk or sober, and he knows his mother's only interested in power. Chryse's mistaken.'

  'I'm afraid not, my dear boy.' Seneca, as if to disassociate himself from his words, was staring at the book-shelves which lined the walls. 'There were others present. Not at the final...joining' – his mouth pursed – 'but during the, ah, preliminary stages. It was, as Acte says, a deliberate act of seduction, with the emperor's full co-operation.'

  'Then he's mad!'

  Burrus gave me another thin smile.

  'Of course he is,' he said. 'We've known that for years.'

  'I mean mad to let her get a hold over him again. I thought we were rid of Agrippina for good.'

  'Didn't we all?'

  'He loves her,' Acte said calmly. 'He's always loved her. Or lusted after her, anyway. He can't help it.'

  'In any case her reasons are plain enough.' Seneca was dry. 'You know, of course, that Poppaea has almost persuaded the emperor to divorce Octavia?'

  'That's nonsense! Nero has no intentions of –'

  'Petronius, please!' Seneca held up a hand. 'You warned me yourself right at the start that that was what she wanted and I wouldn't listen. Don't make the same mistake I did. That isn't opinion, my dear fellow, it's fact. With Octavia gone Nero would be free to marry, and his new wife would be Poppaea, in which case I very much doubt if Agrippina would long survive the wedding.'

  'He's right, Titus,' Silia said. 'She has to act now. Before she loses him altogether.'

  Burrus nodded. 'I agree. Agrippina or Poppaea, one of them will have the boy soon. The question is which side do we choose? Which is best for Rome?'

  'How about Lucius's side?' I said.

  Seneca's eyebrows lifted, and he turned towards me. 'I beg your pardon?'

  'How about choosing the emperor's side? He is, after all, my dears' – I spread my hands – 'the emperor.'

  'Don't be idiotic, Titus!' Silia sniffed. 'The poor lamb hasn't got a side.'

  'Are you sure?' I was getting just a little angry with all of them; with myself, too, if truth be told, because their assumptions were my own. And some demon seemed to have got hold of my tongue. 'Silia, the emperor is not a "child" or a "boy" or a "lamb". He's twenty-one years old and a man in his own right. Perhaps we should try to remember that occasionally.'

  They stared at me. All of them.

  'Must be his time of the month,' Burrus murmured. It was the only crude remark I ever heard him make.

  'My dear fellow,' Seneca said smoothly. 'but of course Nero is an adult, physically at least. But you must admit that in the field of judgment –'

  'His only real fault,' I interrupted him, 'is that he was born to the wrong mother and pushed into a job he was never fitted for. The poor devil would be perfectly content as third actor with a second-rate touring company or playing for money on street corners, and instead he's the most powerful individual in the world. That is worth bearing in mind too.'

  I noticed that Acte was nodding. Burrus, however, was not.

  'But, Petronius,' he said wearily, 'that's exactly the point. Nero's the emperor whether he likes it or not. Whether we like it or not. Theboy's' – he caught himself – 'I'm sorry, the man is well-meaning enough, I grant you, but still...'

  'And that's another thing.' I was properly angry now. Goodness knows where all this was coming from, but I must have been bottling it up for months unknown even to myself because I meant every word. 'Yes, he is well-meaning. Now I'm no altruist like you and I don't take pleasure in manipulating people like Seneca or even darling Silia here...'

  'Oh, my dear fellow!'

  'Titus!'

  '...but as a person who regards himself as reasonably cultured I have a lot of sympathy with what Lucius is trying to do.'

  'Which is?' Burrus seemed genuinely interested.

  'To take Rome by the scruff of the neck and civilise her, whether she likes the experience or not. Although I doubt if it's possible this late in the day, and I'm not wholly taken with the young man's methods, I still applaud his attempt.'

  'Hey, Titus!' Acte said quietly amid a growing pool of silence.

  'Titus, have you quite finished?' Silia's voice could have come straight off a glacier.

  'I think so, dear,' I said. 'More or less.'

  'Good.' She turned to Seneca. 'Now we were discussing what could be done. Perhaps...'

  'Wait a moment. I agree with Petronius.' That was Burrus. I stared at him. 'Oh, no, not that rot about Nero's mission or whatever you like to call it. We've had that conversation before and he knows my opinion. Greece is a moral swamp and any sensible person will leave it alone. But he's right about not taking sides. Personally I don't want to support either Poppaea or the empress, and I don't think anyone else in this room does either.' He paused and looked round the faces. 'Well? Am I right?'

  There was no answer.

  'Fair enough. Not that I suspect we could do anything constructive in any case. So what's wrong with doing what Petronius suggests and leaving the lad – I'm sorry, Titus, but he is a lad, adult or not – to solve his own problems?'

  Seneca cleared his throat. 'You think, then, that the poor...ah, that the emperor is capable of that?'

  'Certainly not.' Burrus held his gaze. 'I'm not the idiot that Petronius seems to have become. But I think it might be safer and more...politic' – he let the word hang, and I swear the old hack blushed – 'to let him try.'

  We left it at that. In the event I think we were right; although none of us imagined that Lucius's solution to the problem would be as drastic – and as final – as it turned out to be.

  Silia was uncharacteristically quiet on the way home. We'd almost reached the Palatine when she said, 'I don't really manipulate people, Titus, do I?'

  I smiled.

  'All the time, darling. It's one of your most endearing qualities.'

  'Like Seneca?'

  'Not like Seneca.' I leaned over (we were in a double litter) and kissed her cheek. 'Besides, dear, you only do it for their own good. And the poor lost souls need someone to organise their lives for them.'

  'That' – she sat back with a contented sigh – 'is what I thought.'

  We finished the journey in politic silence.

  22.

  What Lucius's solution was we discovered before March was half over. He usually celebrated the five-day Festival of Minerva at Baiae, not far from Naples. The celebrations were by all accounts impressive. I'd never been invited myself, but that, unfortunately, was about to be remedied.

  My invitation came early in the month, together with a request that I visit Lucius at the Palace as soon as possible. The slave took me to a small gymnasium furnished with a single chair. Lucius lay on the floor, dressed in a short tunic. He had a slab of lead on his chest, and he was wheezing like an old pair of bellows. I waited politely until he nodded to the slaves standing on either side. The slab was removed.

  'A breathing exercise, Titus,' he said. 'You should try it. It does absolute wonders for the voice.'

  'Oh, no, my dear, not me! I've too much respect for my ribs. And' – I indicated his face – 'I've never been all that fond of purple.'

  He laughed and threw himself into the chair. Slaves mopped the sweat from his forehead and dabbed on perfume. There was very little left now of his fragile, boyish prettiness. His throat and lower jaw were beginning to swell, giving his whole face a coarse appearance. He was also, I
noticed, getting fat.

  When the slaves had finished he waved them out and we were left alone.

  'You got the invitation?' he asked. 'For the festival?'

  'Of course. That's why I'm here.'

  'Good. Now, dear, I'd like you to organise a party for me and Mother. We'll have it at the villa in Bauli.' It took me all the powers of dissimulation I possessed to keep the look of shock from my face. Even so Lucius looked concerned. 'There's no problem, is there? You can do it in the time?'

  'No. I mean yes, of course I can do it, if you want me to.'

  He beamed. 'That's lovely. Don't spare any expense, mind, I can afford it, and Mother's worth every penny. Besides, she gets out so seldom these days, poor dear.'

  There was a peculiar breathless catch to his voice that I couldn't quite place. It was both disturbing and tantalisingly familiar.

  'Will Poppaea be there?' I tried to keep my own voice neutral.

  'Oh, no. Poppy can't manage it, unfortunately. A migraine headache. She can feel them coming on months in advance sometimes. It'll just be me and Mother.' There it was again. Perhaps it was an after-effect of the lead slab. 'What's wrong, Titus? You seem a little hesitant.'

  'No. Not at all. What kind of party were you thinking of?'

  'Oh, that's up to you, darling! You're so good at parties I wouldn't even dare suggest. Cater for fifty.' He lay back and closed his eyes. As if by prearrangement (which it probably was) a pretty slave-boy no older than five or six slipped into the room. Completely ignoring me, he began to massage Lucius's feet and ankles. 'But remember. Whatever you decide on Mummy must enjoy it. Despite all the terrible things that Poppy tells me she's been saying about me recently she is my own darling mummy, and she deserves her treat.'

  'Terrible things?' I was watching fascinated. The boy's hands had moved above the hem of Lucius's tunic and were caressing his bare privates.

  'Terrible, Titus.' Lucius spread his legs. 'I couldn't possibly repeat them.' His voice dropped to a murmur. 'But she is my own dear mummy, and she shall have her party. Whatever Poppy says.'

  Just then the boy ducked his head beneath the tunic, and I left quickly. Neither of them, I'm sure, saw me go.

  I wasn't happy. Despite what I'd said, ten days is far too short a time to organise a proper party, especially when it's an imperial commission. However, what Seneca had called Lucius's new independence of mind was getting stronger by the day. He was quite simply beginning to realise the basic truth that everyone had been taking pains to hide from him: that an emperor can do what he likes, in reason or out of it. So far our relations had been excellent, but I was very well aware that the relationship was changing. I wasn't alone, of course; Seneca and Burrus were the same. Presumably Poppaea and Agrippina also. We were all in our different ways walking on glass; softly, and with bated breath. I shuddered to think what the response would be, now, if anyone made the mistake of seriously crossing Lucius.

  He'd told me that the party had to be a good one. I knew that for my own safety it had to be better than good.

  It was. Because Lucius and Agrippina would come by sea from Baiae I began by mooring six rafts offshore on which sat two dozen 'Sirens', girls chosen for their beauty and their singing voices. Around these islands swam other beautiful boys and girls dressed as Tritons and Nereids. Their job was to escort the imperial boat through the shallows to the landing stage. In the gardens leading up from the beach (lit, like the islands, by coloured lamps and torches) were more nymphs and satyrs, and a group of hidden musicians with flutes and lyres. The effect, although I do say so myself, was magnificent.

  But not more magnificent than Lucius, when he finally arrived at the villa where I was waiting to welcome him. His mantle, covered in gold leaf and spangles which glittered in the lamplight, belonged on a stage rather than at a dinner party, and his eyelids were dusted with powdered pearls.

  'Titus, it's beautiful! You've excelled yourself!' He hugged me. 'Hasn't he, Mother?'

  'Very nice indeed, dear.' Agrippina looked frankly royal in stiff cloth of gold with a ruby tiara. She held out a hand, palm downwards. I kissed it. 'A lovely surprise.'

  'I'm glad you're pleased, darling.' Lucius kissed her on the cheek. He looked back down towards the landing stage where the boats of the other guests were mooring and shouted: 'Anicetus! Are you all right?'

  A figure disentangled itself from two hamadryads – recruited, like most of the nymphs and satyrs, from the Naples Prostitutes' Guild – and waved.

  'The poor dear was terribly sick coming across.' Lucius grinned at me; at such close quarters the smell of his perfume almost had me rocking on my heels. 'For a Commander of the Fleet he's really the most dreadful sailor. And in a flat calm, too. Disgusting.' He giggled. 'I must see he gets more practice. Now, what else have you got for us?'

  I led the way inside. I was rather proud of how I'd decorated the villa. Bushes and small trees in pots, interspersed with leafy branches and more coloured lights, broke up the stiff formality of the rooms into a series of grottoes with couches and tables strewn with flowers. The air was delicately scented with expensive perfumes; not that one could smell them in the emperor's presence, of course. By prearrangement as we entered the most beautiful boy the Naples Guild could provide stepped forward and held out a wine tray with two golden cups.

  Lucius took one of them. His eyes undressed the boy: not difficult, since he wore only a cache-sexe and a wreath of flowers.

  'Titus!' he said. 'What a perfect little Ganymede! Wherever did you find him?'

  The boy offered the other cup to Agrippina. She took it, frowning. Lucius turned to her.

  'Oh, don't be silly, Mother!' he said. 'The child's an absolute pet!' He stretched out his hand and, his eyes never leaving her face, delicately fingered the lad's gilded nipples. 'Or don't you think so?'

  'Yes, dear.' Agrippina, I could see, was not amused. 'He's very pretty.'

  'Isn't he? Off you go, little one.' Lucius turned the boy round and patted his behind. He was still looking at Agrippina. 'Bring us some more wine later.' The child trotted off. 'Now, Titus, what's for dinner? I am starving, simply starving!'

  'I thought you and the empress would like to dine in private,' I said.

  That brought the first smile I'd seen so far from Agrippina. She reached down and squeezed Lucius's hand.

  'Oh, how very thoughtful!' she murmured. 'Isn't it, dear?'

  Instead of replying Lucius brushed the powdery whiteness of her forehead with his lips. Agrippina may still have been a very beautiful woman, but she was – I saw now in the brighter light from the oil lamps – very heavily made up. Under the white lead I could see the clear signs of crow's feet at the corners of her eyes and the edges of her mouth.

  The villa's major domo was waiting in the background. I called him over.

  'The emperor and empress will eat immediately,' I said.

  He bowed and waited for them to follow.

  Lucius took my arm. 'Well done, Titus! Marvellous! Simply splendid!' he whispered, then winked. 'See you later, eh?'

  I watched them go, then went back to the party.

  It was an enormous success, especially the food: the Bay of Naples is famous for its fish. I'd carried the grotto theme to the gardens and the seashore, and we ate al fresco before turning to other more strenuous pursuits. I was sorry Silia had missed the festivities – she'd conjugal duties to perform – but I managed to enjoy myself well enough in her absence. Ganymede may have been otherwise engaged, but he had a friend, and I found two of the most delightful nymphs to make up a foursome.

  I didn't see Lucius or Agrippina until much later, when the major domo came to tell me that the imperial couple were leaving. Lucius's mood was strange. He had his arm around Agrippina's shoulders, hugging her close; and she smiled up at him with a curiously self-satisfied smile of her own, like a contented cat.

  'Mother's a bit tired, Titus,' he said: there was that strange breathless quality to his voice which I'd noticed in the
gymnasium. 'She wants to get straight back.'

  'The empress's boat is waiting, sir.' The major domo bowed. I could see the man was nervous, and wondered why.

  'Ready, darling?' Lucius kissed Agrippina on the mouth. She responded, and I caught the flick of a tongue before he drew his head away. 'Off we go, then.'

  'I'll see you to the landing stage,' I said.

  We walked together through the now dimly lit gardens, trying not to step on the couples (or sometimes threesomes) who impinged here and there on the path. Agrippina, snuggled deep into Lucius's embrace, said nothing all the way.

  The boat alongside the jetty was different to the one in which they'd arrived. It was lower in the water, and it had a large canopy covering the entire stern. Agrippina paused.

  'What's this?' she said.

  Lucius giggled and hugged her.

  'A last little surprise. Isn't it beautiful? Go on. It's got such a lovely couch. You can sleep on the way back.'

  'You're not coming?'

  'My stomach's a little upset, darling. I'll go by road and meet you there.'

  The crew were already on board, together with Agrippina's personal maid. The empress, I could see, was hesitating.

  'You're sure you won't come, Lucius?' she said.

  'I said I'll go by road!' Lucius's face had suddenly darkened. 'Now don't be silly, Mother! It's perfectly safe! Off you go!'

  They stood looking at each other for a long time, not touching. Then without another word Agrippina walked across the gangplank and stepped down into the covered cabin. Slaves undid the hawsers and the ship moved off.

  'If your stomach's upset,' I said, turning to Lucius, 'why not –'

  I stopped. He was watching the disappearing boat with empty eyes from which ran black, mascara'd tears.

  'Don't leave me tonight, Titus,' he whispered. 'Come back with me to Baiae.'

  Memory is a strange thing. As soon as he spoke I remembered where I'd heard that curiously breathless, excited voice before. It had been at our first dinner party at the palace, the night Britannicus died.

  I felt, despite the warmth of the evening, suddenly cold.