‘Perhaps he’s realised that even an emperor has to keep up appearances.’
‘No; I didn’t bring up my son to worry about what other people think. I brought him up to take what he wants and not to care about others. I brought him up to be emperor. When he was a babe I had his horoscope cast by two different astrologers; both said that he would become emperor and both said that, once he did, he would kill me. I replied: “Let him kill me so long as he becomes emperor.” I’m starting to think that I spoke rashly.’
Pallas scoffed. ‘I’ve never believed in the ridiculous Babylonian so-called science of astrology. Augury, yes, because that is interpreting the will of the gods at this present moment through bird flight or lightning or whatever; and their will changes as circumstance does. To think that the course of one’s life is completely mapped out by the position of the planets at the moment of your birth is ludicrous; it means that the gods have no influence upon how we lead our lives because it’s been pre-ordained.’
Vespasian enjoyed Pallas’ reasoning and watched carefully as Agrippina tried to refute it in her head.
‘But he did become emperor,’ she pointed out.
‘Of course he did, but that was not because the planets had pre-ordained it; it was because you and he desired that event more than anyone else and had the will to dispose of all that stood in his way.’
As Agrippina digested this, a skein of geese came into view, flying in formation from the direction of the Emperor’s villa at Baiae. ‘What would an augur say about that?’ she asked pointing at the birds.
Pallas shrugged. ‘I’m not in the college of augurs and nor have I ever taken much interest in the science. What do you think, Vespasian? Do you have any experience in augury?’
‘I do,’ Vespasian lied, knowing that Agrippina was yet to be convinced. ‘I once considered applying to Claudius for a position in the college of augurs but then …’ He looked with regret at Agrippina. ‘Well, then I fell out of favour. However, my reading of that sign would be that, in conjunction with the ship sailing south, the geese returning north would mean that you will go south to Baiae and return north to Bauli without any incident.’
Agrippina watched the geese fly overhead; as they did so the formation changed and another took the lead at the apex of the ‘V’.
‘Renewal,’ Vespasian found himself saying, astounded by his unabashed dissembling; the signs of bird flight had always been a mystery to him. ‘It’s quite clear that you will come back after there has been a renewal.’
Pallas took up the theme. ‘Which fits in perfectly with the Emperor’s stated aim of this dinner. A reconciliation; a renewal of trust.’
Agrippina’s dark eyes bored into her lover. ‘Is that what you really think or are you just trying to persuade me to my death?’
Pallas did not show what he thought; he rarely did. ‘Don’t go then, my dear, and see what happens if you refuse the Emperor’s invitation and hospitality. If, however, your fears are founded and he has decided to kill you, then kill you he will, whether you get on the ship he’s sending or not.’
This clinched it for Agrippina; she nodded slowly as her mind ran over the logic of the argument. ‘Yes, my dear, you’re right; I have to go if I want the chance of any power ever again. For too long have I been excluded, my opinion not registered; this is a final opportunity and if my son plays me false then I shall go out with defiance, but if he’s genuine then I shall do everything within my power to draw him to me and keep him captivated. I shall accept the invitation.’
‘You have made the right decision,’ Pallas said, although he knew that to be a complete lie.
What he was unaware of, however, was that Vespasian knew that too.
Magnus sniffed the air as the trireme slipped along the coast, its oars rising and dipping in time to the high-pitched call of the stroke-master’s pipe; lights began to twinkle in the luxurious villas along the shore as dusk fell on the holiday playground of the wealthy. ‘I’d be happier if this ship was taking us all the way back to Rome rather than dropping us off at what I can only assume is going to be a venomous dinner, if you take my meaning?’
‘I do indeed, but I don’t think Nero will try poison.’ Vespasian looked over to Agrippina reclining on a sumptuous couch on a dais in the bow of the ship watched over by her bulky freedman, Gallus. She was dressed for seduction, in the finest of everything; each item, whether it be jewellery or a garment, had been chosen to accentuate her still very desirable femininity; a femininity she evidently planned to use on her own son in a final attempt to lure him back into her incestuous clutches. Two braziers kept her warm as her body slave, Acerronia, attended to her coiffure, maintaining it from any damage caused by the slight breeze.
‘Well, I ain’t going to be tucking into any tasty morsels there.’
‘Don’t worry, you won’t be invited to. I can’t see Nero wanting to recline to dinner with the likes of you when he’s got his mother to kill. You’ll be perfectly safe.’
‘What about you?’
‘I imagine that I’ll be asked to join them as one of the witnesses to the great reunion so that I can swear to just how well they were getting on together before she was so tragically taken from the Emperor.’
Magnus contemplated this as the landing jetty on the shoreline of the grounds of Nero’s villa came into view. Two great torches flamed at its end and within their light half a dozen silhouetted figures stood. The trireme’s trierarchus began calling out a series of orders in fluent Nautic; the ship slowed and then, as the larboard-side’s oars were hauled in, it slewed around until, with considerable grace, it nudged the jetty and came to a creaking rest.
‘Mother, my darling! You’ve come at last.’ From within the group of silhouettes Nero, with Burrus next to him, emerged, his arms extended towards Agrippina, still in her position in the bow of the ship. ‘Let me help you.’ He moved to board the vessel but the gangplank had not yet been fixed in place. ‘Herculeius! How dare you keep the woman who bore your Emperor waiting?’ He clapped his hands, staccato, and the trierarchus issued a stream of nautical oaths and speeded up the process of lowering the gangplank by kicking the nearest sailor up the backside and clouting another couple around the ears so that they stumbled and nearly dropped their load.
Eventually, and with a few more bruises inflicted, the gangplank was in place and Nero rushed up it, knocking an unfortunate sailor off the side so that he fell onto the jetty, his right leg slipping between it and the hull of the ship as it bobbed gently back and forth against it, crushing the limb; his screams were ignored as the Emperor helped his mother to her feet and took her into the warmest of embraces.
‘Oh, Mother, my darling Mother, it has been too long; a whole month,’ Nero crooned in a voice loud enough for Vespasian to hear despite the agony of the injured sailor. ‘How this misunderstanding between us has been allowed to fester, I don’t know.’ He threw back his head with his right hand placed languidly on his brow in the manner of an actor in a tragedy. ‘I blame myself, Mother, and I promise to do all in my power to make it up to you.’
Agrippina, who had hitherto done nothing to express joy or otherwise at the reunion with her son, allowed herself a smile. ‘In which case, my sweet boy, you will be doing a lot seeing as you have so much power; enough to share some with your mother to make up for your negligence.’
Nero laughed off Agrippina’s naked appeal for a position at the heart of his regime and, with formal elegance, escorted her from the ship; Burrus and the three Praetorian centurions accompanying him to guard Nero and his mother snapped salutes as the injured sailor was hauled away by his comrades, still howling with pain.
Vespasian and Magnus followed the imperial couple at a discreet distance down onto the jetty where Seneca was waiting. ‘How is she?’ he asked in a whisper, his eyes showing apprehension in the torchlight. ‘I mean, has she indicated any, how shall I put it, reluctance, yes, reluctance that’s it; has she indicated any reluctance to be reconciled
with the Emperor?’
Vespasian played the innocent, pretending that he had not guessed, along with his brother, the real reason why Agrippina had been invited here and just who was aiding the Emperor in committing matricide in order that he too could benefit from Agrippina’s death. ‘She knows that whether the Emperor is playing her false or not is irrelevant, as if he’s not then this her last chance at power, and if he is then she’s doomed never to be back in favour with him anyway.’
Seneca chuckled. ‘Sensible vixen to calculate in such a way; but I think that she’ll be pleasantly surprised as the Emperor is entirely genuine in reaching out his hand in friendship – no, love, yes, love, that is the just word in this case.’
‘Is it? How gratifying,’ Vespasian said without feeling the least bit gratified by the lie given by Seneca concerning the Emperor’s alleged motives.
‘Yes, it is, isn’t it?’ Seneca chuckled again and slapped Vespasian on the back. ‘I do love a family reunion; it makes for such a happy occasion. Come, my dear Vespasian, you must join us in recognition of your part in bringing about this joyous event. I believe you’ve met Vologases, the Great King of Parthia?’
‘I did, a few years ago now. Why?’
‘Excellent, excellent. Come, we have much to discuss and to celebrate.’
And so, with a ‘what did I tell you?’ glance at Magnus, Vespasian accompanied Seneca towards Nero’s seaside pleasure villa.
And pleasure was indeed the watchword in this palace of delights that the Emperor had stuffed full to the brim with luxury. Every imaginable taste could be catered for whether it was for the flesh of either sex or none, be it thin, fat, deformed, old, or, indeed, young. But if carnality was not your whim then music, theatre, gourmet cuisine and the finest wines were also on offer. However, if you were more of the outdoor type then there was a stable filled with some of the finest horseflesh money could buy, ready to be driven about the oval track Nero had had constructed at the rear of the villa. There was even an exercise area next to the bathhouse, not that Nero exercised that much but he did appreciate, from time to time, watching others do so; especially should they be at the peak of physical condition. Any pleasure could be indulged in in this villa, any pleasure, that is, save one: there was no death for amusement – although there was death as punishment. Nero had recently decreed that gladiatorial contests should not be to the death and should instead be about the beauty of combat, the elegance of sword play, the skill of the fighter, and to that end he had banned all gladiatorial blood from the arena. It also had the gratifying side effect for the profligate Emperor of allowing him to put on ever grander displays without having to pay the gladiatorial schools for the lives of their dead property. To most people’s surprise, Nero kept up this regime in the privacy of his own domain but there was so much else to distract his visitors that no one seemed to mind unduly. But, of course, they were still only too well aware that should they displease the Emperor during their visit then the moratorium on death was only for amusement, not punishment; no, for the élite of Rome to be in the presence of the Emperor always involved the presence of fear and not even Agrippina was exempt from it. And so to cover her fear, so that her son would not notice it, she allowed herself to enjoy the fruits of Baiae.
Nero, however, had not brought his mother to Baiae just so that she could indulge in the pleasures that it offered; far from it: he had brought her here to woo her before witnesses. His objective was that by the end of the evening she would feel completely relaxed and at ease in his company and he went about this mission with an extraordinary energy. It was he who served her the first cup of wine, making a point of tasting it first to show that whatever she may have thought him guilty of in the past he was not trying to poison her this evening. It was Nero who deferred to her on the choice of music that the ensemble of musicians, placed discreetly behind intricately carved wooden and ivory screens, should play. Nero himself chastised a slave who had been clumsy enough to brush against Agrippina’s arm as he served her water for her second cup of wine; and to show his filial concern for the presumption of one so far beneath his mother, Nero ordered the hapless man to be flogged then and there until the whiteness of his ribs could be seen through the tattered flesh and streaming blood. Yes, Nero was the model son trying to make every effort to ensure that his mother had the most relaxing and carefree of evenings.
And Vespasian observed all this along with a couple of dozen other senators, summoned to bear witness to the joyous occasion. He watched the solemnity with which mother and son said prayers and made sacrifices to the goddess Minerva; and he, along with his colleagues, stood with a fold of his toga covering his head, partaking in the ceremony, as the would-be murderer performed the rites sacred to the virgin goddess of music and poetry alongside his intended victim. He partook of a meal of such extravagance that even Caligula might have felt a twinge of envy, joining in the toasts and savouring recipes of Nero’s own concoction as they were entertained by troupes of dancers and acrobats from all over the Empire. He listened intently as Nero praised his mother, calling her the best of mothers and affirming that any good son should tolerate outbursts from their parents and try to soothe their behaviour. He and the rest of the witnesses pretended not to notice the salacious kisses exchanged by the reconciled couple and they feigned not to see the lingering caresses that also passed between them; but they applauded wholeheartedly when Nero raised Agrippina to her feet and announced that they would leave the company for a short while so that they could walk and talk in private around the gardens. When the imperial couple returned, not long later, Vespasian and the others welcomed them back with equal enthusiasm and tried not to think about how the grass stains came to be on Agrippina’s stola around the height of her knees and why her hair on either side of her head was ruffled as if it had been subject to a fierce grip.
Soon it was time for the parting and Nero spilled many tears at the thought of being separated from his mother but extracted a solemn promise from her that she would allow him to return the visit the following evening. ‘Mother, you have made me the happiest of sons,’ Nero declared looking to the heavens, his left arm raised.
Agrippina played her part and cradled Nero’s chin in the palm of her hand and, pulling him close, kissed him full on the mouth. ‘To be reunited with her son after an estrangement is a mother’s dream.’
This sentiment was commended by all present and joy seemed unconfined.
‘Anicetus!’ Nero called, once he was able to master the emotion of the moment. ‘Where are you? Is it here?’
A man stepped out of the shadows, a man whom Vespasian was sure had not been there before. He wore the uniform of a prefect and Vespasian knew him to be a freedman of Nero’s and recently appointed the commander of the fleet at Misenum a few miles north up the coast.
‘Well?’ Nero enquired.
‘Princeps, it has arrived and it is splendid.’
Nero clapped his hands together like an excited child. ‘Excellent!’ He turned to Agrippina. ‘Mother, I have had a beautiful thing created for myself but, despite its beauty, it cannot please me nearly as much as you responding so favourably to my overtures of peace; it makes me so happy to know that there is nothing but love between us now. So therefore, Mother, come and see what I’ve had crafted for my pleasure that I now, spontaneously, give to you in celebration of our peaceful accord.’ He took Agrippina by the hand and led her from the hall; Vespasian and the other senators followed in close attendance.
Through the villa Nero led them and then on out into a night chilled by a freshening wind. Across the lawns they went, down towards the sea. And there at the jetty, on the opposite side to the trireme upon which they had arrived, was moored another vessel. Even in the light of the two torches still flaming at the jetty’s end, Vespasian could see that it was painted white and its metal fittings were gilded. And he could see why this evening had been almost four months in the preparation: it was magnificent. At its prow was a swan’s neck an
d head, elegantly carved and covered with white feathers each individually attached. Amidships were two wings, one on either side; again these were feathered. Protruding from the stern and forming a covered seating area was the tail of the bird so that the whole vessel resembled a swan swimming.
Cries of wonder and disbelief that such a thing could have been conceived, let alone built, erupted from the senators, and Vespasian did not hold his contribution back even though he knew that this was not what it appeared to be. However, one glance at the genuinely pleased smile written all over Agrippina’s face told him that she suspected nothing; she evidently thought that Nero had been sincere and her desirable femininity had truly secured their relationship and this gift was the proof of it: how could something so extravagant, so beautiful, so elegant be anything other than what it seemed: a gift from an Emperor to his mother? It did not cross her mind that this was to be the instrument of her death. She flung her arms around Nero’s neck and kissed his cheeks and he, in turn, cupped her breasts in his hands and bent to nuzzle them. Mother and son parted on the best of terms as all present would be able to bear witness to.
‘You should have seen it arrive,’ Magnus said, appearing next to Vespasian. ‘I really thought it was a monstrous swan at first, until I saw the oars sticking out.’
The Furies of Rome Page 12