The Conspiracy

by John Hersey

  “The change in Nero, when I began to lose influence over him, came quickly and dramatically after he murdered his mother, six years ago, nearly seven. It was then that we saw the beginning of his excesses.

  “It was then that his night outings in the city turned from youthful pranks into criminal raids: He would go out into the alleys late at night with a few companions, all disguised as slaves, and they would play at cutpurse and tavern-robber and rapist, terrorizing proprietors, knocking innocent people on the head, violating decent women. When it became known that the Emperor of Rome played these games, not only every shabby outlaw but also many noble youths imitated him. Our city streets became a nightmare. It was as if Rome had fallen in war to a cruel enemy.

  “It was then, too, that Nero began to put himself on public display. It started in the Circus; whereas formerly he had watched hidden by a curtain, he now sat in broad view, openly enjoying the games along with the rabble. He took up driving a four-horse chariot. Burrus and I arranged to have a space in the Vatican valley enclosed by a high wall where he could play with his horses without its becoming a public scandal, but he began inviting first his friends, then a huge crowd of people at large; and finally we saw him in the Circus, a common charioteer of the Green team.

  “He sang with a lyre, first at private dinners, saying that this was a royal custom among ancient chiefs, and finally before all Rome in theaters. He was shameless in his solicitation of praise and applause. Once he saw a group of young men from Alexandria applauding in a theater in their rhythmic styles, which they called ‘bee hum,’ ‘sound of roof tiles,’ ‘bricks clacking,’ and he then enlisted a large corps of young men to be present and applaud in these ways whenever he performed; they would shout in unison that Nero was divine, until Nero believed them. I saw him once mincing in the part of Niobe, singing falsetto, and I wept. The parts he chose! Canace in Labor—about the daughter of an Etruscan king, pregnant by her own brother; all Rome snickered behind its hand about Nero ‘groaning in childbirth.’ Orestes the Matricide—think of his choosing to sing that role! The Blinding of Oedipus. The Frenzy of Hercules. No one was allowed to leave a theater while he sang—and once a certain Senator went to the length of pretending to die so he could be carried out.

  “As you are all too aware, Nero also began to imagine that he was a poet; you know the type of mediocre young tinkers and cobblers of poetry he drew around himself at first for his games of extemporization. Then he began to think himself the equal of such as you and Persius and Bassus. You took part in the first of the Neronia, you saw how he put on Greek dress and read poems and orated in the competitions before the entire populace, and you heard the announcement that he was victorious. Everyone but he knew that the judgments were farcical. It sickened me to see him ‘humble’ in the face of the verdicts—the way, when they offered him the prize for lyre-playing, he knelt before it and asked that it be placed at the feet of the statue of Augustus.

  “The bad year, dear Lucan, was three years ago. Everything has gone disastrously downhill since then. The year opened with signs of the suppression of all dissidence—the revival of the Law of High Treason; the banishment of the Praetor Antistius Sosianus and of Fabricius Vaiento; a public burning of books that mocked authority. Next Burrus, my beloved ally in the effort to keep alive the better side of Nero, died ostensibly of an abscess of the throat; I would say he died of sadness. I sometimes wish I had—a soldier could die of sadness, somehow a philosopher could not. Nero then replaced Burrus with the one man who above all others has brought ruin to Rome: Sofonius Tigellinus.

  “Then troubles fell like hail. Nero’s old enemies Plautus and Sulla were murdered in exile. The corn ships were wrecked in that terrible storm in Ostia. Nero divorced Octavia, married Poppaea, murdered Octavia. There were riots. Persius with his lovely poetic talent died, and you turned bitter. Suilius denounced me—I now wonder if he was hired to do it. I tried to retire to this place, offering Nero all my worldly goods, but he made me a long false speech about how much he needed me. In fact I no longer offered advice and, for that matter, was no longer asked for it. Tigellinus had taken into his calloused paws Nero’s ear, mouth, penis, eyes, anus, fingertips, legs, paunch—his all, body and mind.

  “Before long Rome will regret the day Tigellinus was born—in a hovel in southern Sicily, Lucan. He was so destructive and vicious as a youth that he was sent into exile, and he lived several years as a fisherman in Achaea. Then he was pardoned and became a horse breeder in the harsh upper pasturage of Apulia and Calabria. Nero bought chariot horses from him, admired his swagger and aped his foul mouth, and brought him to Rome and gave him the post for which he surely had the greatest talent—Prefect of Police. And when Burrus died we got this delinquent in his place, this outlaw still stinking of fish and venality, a tough of the tracks, a born alleyway policeman, vulgar, cruel for the sake of cruelty, gifted however to our sorrow with a vivid imagination and quick to learn the patterns of so-called elegance without taking in a shred of culture. I will tell you what he has been able to do: He has been able to make me hate Nero, whom once I loved.

  “Have the disgraces of this triennium been Nero’s ‘fault? There is a subtle interplay between the comportment of a ruler and the temper of his people. Each influences the other. But the ruler, who is like a father, must remember at every moment that others will follow his example. I tried to din this into Nero, who had to try to act the father when he was only seventeen years old. But alas, Nero had other teachers who taught him the easier lessons of power: frighten, corrupt, divide, exploit, enjoy, dominate, dominate, dominate. Caligula, Claudius, Agrippina, Poppaea, Tigellinus above all.

  “You ask if he could be influenced for the better. I used to think so. For five years Burrus and I influenced him for the good of Rome. But for the last three years, Nero has been without Burrus, without Seneca.

  “I am afraid I have not answered your urgent questions very well, Lucan. I understand your suffering, and I share it. Write to me what you think about all this. Destroy this letter as soon as you have read it.

  “Farewell.”

  “Lucan to Seneca, greetings:

  “I will take advantage of Cleonicus’s return.

  “You certainly have not answered my questions very well. What conceit! I asked big questions—whether Nero should be held to account for ruining all of us, or all of us for ruining Nero and Rome. And what do you reply? That Nero has gone bad for want of Seneca’s tutelage! I know all that story of the night raids—I went on one. One should try to think about possibilities of charm, magnetism, very great attractiveness in people whose ideas one loathes. One can like, perhaps love, some of those with whom one disagrees on important matters. What a beautiful organism Nero still is! Even Tigellinus has a punch, a vitality, a horseman’s humor. I used to have a good time with Nero and Tigellinus and the Circle. You are above reproach; I find your company boring and gloomy. One must face unpleasant thoughts once in a while, Seca.

  “What about Nero’s member? He more than once tried to put it in my asshole. I wish you had given me your observations on this side of Nero—particularly his strange dealings with women. This business of reaching a long arm all the way to Misenum to drag Epicharis into whoredom—peculiar, extremely peculiar, since the category of women chosen for that humiliation (which so many Roman women embraced!) was that of high society, to which Epicharis does not belong.

  “Seca, Seca, you do not seem to understand how desperate I am—we are. You must know that I am not alone in my desperation.

  “Farewell.”

  December 5

  To PAENUS, Tribune of Secret Police, from TIGELLINUS

  Congratulations on the Cleonicus intercepts. If we get our hands on a few more such letters from Seneca we will be in a position at last to step on that old beetle as if by accident and hear his hard old shell crack. Good work, Paenus. Reward the pretty boy who pulled it o
ff.

  And yes, you may give a reward, but a modest one, to the agent in Lucan’s household, and you may keep him there—but under tight rein. Maybe he will have helped us to catch a rat, or perhaps I should say a mouse.

  December 6

  To TIGELLINUS from PAENUS, Tribune of Secret Police

  Getting praise from you is like finding pomegranate meat in a walnut. One faints—but is it from the sweet taste on the tongue or the strange fear in the heart? What next?

  To PAENUS, Tribune of Secret Police, from TIGELLINUS

  When you have come out of your swoon get busy with the repairs on your lamentable service.

  December 9

  To TIGELLINUS from PAENUS, Tribune of Secret Police

  After Piso’s banquet you ordered me to infiltrate agents into his household but not to put him under close watch. These were somewhat self-contradictory commands, but I have tried with every scruple to follow them (“the first duty of a secret policeman…”). It is inevitable that some reports on their master would come from these new slaves—with whose proficiency in domestic work, by the way, Piso is said to be extremely pleased. I hope you will not consider this unauthorized “surveillance,” and that you will construe what comes of it, whatever it may be, as worth reporting.

  The one recurring item of some importance to us is this: Even now that the weather has suddenly turned colder, Piso takes walks in his garden several times a week, each time alone with one person; and very often the person is one of three of our doubtfuls—Lucan most frequently of all, droopy-eyed Scaevinus, dainty Quintianus.

  This is natural, you will say, these are bosom friends of Piso’s. But is it natural to walk slowly in a garden, out of all earshot, in chilly weather? They are not out running or playing ball, working up a sweat before a bath. They talk earnestly. Our agents cannot follow them, can only observe from a distance.

  And this seems to me important: Natalis is not one of these strollers. He has not been seen in the house since the agents were planted. I remind you, risking your rebuke, that Natalis has a horse-nostril nose and bears watching.

  Now, our known doubtfuls are not the only men who take these walks with Piso. Two others particularly noticed in recent days:

  One of them is Plautius Lateranus. As you probably know, he was accused by Claudius’s informers eight years ago of having committed adultery with the Empress Messalina—no great distinction at that moment, he was a member of a brave little army—but Claudius spared his life, simply stripped him of his consular rank. This Himself restored in his first year as Emperor—one of the acts of forgiveness that Seneca pushed on Himself along with a number of speeches on clemency that the Emperor mouthed (having the effect Seneca clearly wanted, of advertising what a wise tutor Seneca was). Plautius Lateranus is a sound man, a distinct possibility for Consul next year. Two things concern us here—his eminence and his debt to Seneca. Because of the privacy of these garden walks we do not know why he is consulting with Piso.

  And second, Subrius Flavus, a Tribune of a Praetorian cohort, who is significant for three reasons: he is the only military man we have seen in Piso’s house since the famous banquet; he has long been on very good terms, as you know, with Himself; and he became, through Burrus when he was alive, a friend to Seneca. Again, nothing to go on except his presence.

  All overheard conversations impeccable.

  December 17

  To PAENUS, Tribune of Secret Police, from TIGELLINUS

  I henceforth dedicate my shit to all those who take garden rambles. Our informers are too good at their work. They have made great strollers of the Roman upper class. The patricians have become enthusiasts for the open air. This may even be why so many of them buy ostentatious villas in the country: so they can get a breath of fresh air with friends—and not be overheard.

  But we must not be carried away, Paenus. Now you accuse Natalis because he is not doing something suspicious. Do you remember that your young informer, whose nose impressed you more than Natalis’s, told us that Natalis was flirting with Piso’s wife the night of Piso’s banquet? It may be that Piso has caught the pair making the two-backed beast. That would stop a “friend” from taking walks in a man’s garden.

  And surely not the Tribune Flavus. He is a good hearty fellow, we see him often at the palace.

  Don’t forget that Piso has done nothing to offend. Gave a dinner at which Lucan stirred up a little storm—according to a volunteer informer whose head we found we had to split. Himself adores Piso. Piso is a charming man. Steady nerves, friend.

  To RUFUS, Co-Commander, Praetorian Guard, from TIGELLINUS

  Confidential.

  Are you absolutely sure of Subrius Flavus? I have reasons for wanting to know.

  To TIGELLINUS from RUFUS, Co-Commander, Praetorian Guard

  Confidential.

  Yes, I am absolutely sure of Subrius Flavus. I have reason to be. I take him into my confidence on many matters of consequence. Of all the officers of the Guard, I think he loves Rome the most.

  December 18

  To RUFUS, Co-Commander, Praetorian Guard, from TIGELLINUS

  Confidential.

  I fully respect what you say about the Tribune Subrius Flavus, and it is not as a colleague but strictly as an officer of the Guard that I urge you to consider at least a brief interruption in your official confidences to this officer. Certain information that has come our way suggests that a period of watchful waiting might be advisable in your relationship with him.

  To TIGELLINUS from RUFUS, Co-Commander, Praetorian Guard

  Confidential.

  At times you seem to forget that you and I are of equal rank. I cannot change my policy toward an officer on the basis of mysterious references to “certain information.” Tell me what the information is, and I will consider whether “a period of watchful waiting” is in order.

  To PAENUS, Tribune of Secret Police, from TIGELLINUS

  Without withdrawing my previous endorsement of the Tribune Subrius Flavus, I would nevertheless wish to be informed at once if he is seen again on one of the private strolls you mentioned. At once.

  December 20

  To TIGELLINUS from PAENUS, Tribune of Secret Police

  I am glad we kept our agent in Lucan’s household. He is under tight instructions. Now he has found this, rolled inside a scroll of fables of Phaedrus in a library box. The agent says he has been going through Lucan’s library scrolls regularly, since they seemed to him such an obvious place for Lucan to hide things, and he can therefore vouch that this letter is of recent writing, certainly transmitted within the last two weeks.

  Its substance, except for an interesting reference to Sleepy-Eyes, is of no particular consequence, but its salutation tells us a great deal. It and the letter finally confirm, without too clearly delineating it, the intimacy we have speculated about for so long—between Lucan and Epicharis. The fact that Lucan hid the letter may say more than the letter itself—though perhaps the reference to Polla might account for his wanting it out of sight. But then, why keep it?

  “Epicharis to Lucan, greetings:

  “I hated to see you so downcast. It seems to me that your life in the capital is stale. The circle you move in, Polla’s ambition, all that wine and rich food. Next time you are here we must walk down toward the docks. I think you would take great strength for your poem from what your senses would tell you there in an hour, tell you about the pulsations of life, about men going on in the face of hardship, really about a possible future—the sounds and smells and sights—the spray-bleached orange color of the lazily furled sails telling of dangerous trips, the whack of the caulkers’ hammers, the odor of hemp in the ropewalks and of fish in the nets up to dry, the swearing and quarrels of harbor people, the sunburned faces of coasting men, the oarsmen’s sad sad chanteys, the sharp laughter of whores, the smel
ls of smoke and wine and piss and new bread, the clatter of kegs and bronze and iron objects dropped on the pavements by the stevedores, the gossip and filthy jokes of custodians and porters and wharf-men, the grunts of carpenters and the chunking of their adzes in timbers—oh, Lucan, I adore the raw life of those sea people. Come soon. Come soon.

  “I wear every day the silver brooch you gave me.

  “Did you talk yet with Scaevinus?

  “Can I prevail on your patience for one more errand, dear one? Mela needs some good strong leather—tanned ox-hide would be best—a single full skin. Would this be a dreadful bore?

  “Repetition is what makes women shrews and naggers, but I risk this, repeating: Come soon, my heart’s heart.

  “Farewell.”

  December 21

  To TIGELLINUS from PAENUS, Tribune of Secret Police

  Urgent.

  The Tribune Subrius Flavus went out for a walk with Piso in the latter’s garden this afternoon in nearly freezing rain.

  To RUFUS, Co-Commander, Praetorian Guard, from TIGELLINUS

  Confidential.

  I cannot divulge the nature of the previously mentioned information on the Tribune Subrius Flavus. But it comes to us from a strong source and has been repeated. I again urge a period of discretion.

  To TIGELLINUS from RUFUS, Co-Commander, Praetorian Guard

  Confidential.

  In your refusal to clarify the compromised position of an officer I trust, I perceive that you have decided on a suspension of confidences and a period of watchful waiting with respect to another officer besides the Tribune Subrius Flavus. I mean your so-called dear colleague, me. I do not like this phrase, “I cannot divulge.” I wonder whether I should not remind you that the soldierly loyalty of the Praetorian Guard rests in large measure with your “dear colleague,” who is a professional soldier, and not with you, even though you may be temporarily closer to a certain ear. I have noticed in the past that whenever your judgment is questioned, you take the recourse of whispering in that ear. Do so again. You can thus command my actions but not my judgment.