Domina (Paul Doherty Historical Mysteries)

by Doherty, Paul

  Sejanus seemed to swell in relief. Macro came down the steps, and they clasped hands and embraced. Sejanus grabbed the scroll from Macro and pushed by him, smiling triumphantly at me as he swept into the temple. Macro watched him go and coolly re-took his seat. The news, of course, had soon spread through the wealthy quarters, and other senators now came hurrying up, eager to learn the news. They ignored Macro as they poured through the huge doorway. Once this was closed, a sign that the session was about to begin, Macro turned to his officers.

  ‘Bring the lads up!’ he ordered.

  The men hurried off. I heard the blowing of whistles and then Macro’s marines, followed by the Emperor’s bodyguard, came up the steps and deployed in the great courtyard before the temple of Apollo. The Praetorian officer in charge of Sejanus’s guard became nervous. His anxiety deepened as more armed men appeared led by Laco, Prefect of the Night Watch.

  ‘Don’t be anxious!’ Macro called and got up.

  The Praetorian Guard now broke rank, some re-sheathed their swords. Macro handed their commander a letter.

  ‘Fresh orders from your Emperor!’ he proclaimed. ‘You are to be praised and rewarded. Your first duty is to return to camp.’

  Their commander quickly read the letter, shrugged, rolled it up and stuck it in his belt. Then, without a by your leave, he ordered his men to fall in and marched them quickly away.

  Their position on the steps was now taken by Macro’s men. He plucked me by the arm.

  ‘Let’s join our worthy senators,’ he grinned. ‘Sejanus is about to learn his future.’

  We entered the temple by a side door, and a worried-looking priest led us along the marble corridor into the huge assembly chamber. It was arranged like that of an amphitheatre with tiers of marble seats which flanked a soaring statue of Apollo the Hunter. The senior Consul, Regulus, was already on the rostrum. Sejanus was seated to his right on the lowest tier, surrounded by his coterie, smiling like a triumphant general. Mennius had already begun to read out Augustus’s letter, which was full of praise for Sejanus. Macro and I stood within the doorway, watching as the Senate sat in silence, nodding in agreement at the praise being heaped on the Emperor’s favourite. Mennius droned on, but imperceptibly both the tone and tenor of the letter had changed: now trivial complaints surfaced about Sejanus. The smile faded from the favourite’s face, as the other senators sat puzzled. A few began to withdraw from Sejanus, just a slight shift. Mennius paused and then resumed reading the letter, in which Tiberius confessed to fears about his own safety, stating that he was an old man and needed fresh troops on Capri to guard him.

  Mennius thundered on, warming to his task, slowly quoting Tiberius’s words. ‘“Much as I would wish to come to Rome, I find myself unable to do so due to fears for my safety. It would be too dangerous for me to be within reach of the man who has betrayed me.”’ Mennius paused. ‘“Aelius Sejanus! I demand his arrest for high treason!”’

  Chaos and consternation broke out. The doors at the back of the hall opened, and tribunes and centurions poured in. Macro laughed quietly as some of the senators scampered away like puppies. Sejanus stared in shock.

  ‘You have heard your Emperor’s wishes?’ Mennius called. ‘Sejanus is to be arrested!’

  When a man like Sejanus falls, it is as sudden and as quick as a star dropping out of the heavens. The very people who’d applauded and greeted, fawned and flattered him when he first entered the Senate that morning, now turned on him. Blows rained down, he was kicked and shoved whilst his close adherents tried to flee. As Macro pushed his way through, I seized the opportunity to slip away.

  Agrippina was in her quarters, sitting by a window and pretending to read. She greeted me as if I had only been away a few hours. By now the news of Sejanus’s downfall had spread and, from the yard below, came the sound of running feet, shouts and cries. Agrippina put down the scroll she had been reading, a copy of Horace’s Odes. She smiled and, standing on tiptoe, kissed me on the cheek. She was paler and thinner, those dark eyes more rounded.

  ‘What’s happening?’

  ‘Sejanus has fallen,’ I replied. ‘He’s been arrested. Macro, I suspect, will become Prefect of the Praetorian Guard. Tiberius has begun the attack.’

  Agrippina put her hands together, closed her eyes and smiled. She lowered her head and glanced at a group of serving girls in the far corner of the room.

  ‘Do you hear that?’ she yelled. ‘Sejanus has fallen. It’s prison for him and all his followers.’ She walked forward. ‘Now’s your opportunity to confess! Which of you are his spies?’

  The girls huddled together. Agrippina advanced threateningly. ‘Come on, now’s your chance to confess. If I find out later, it will be the strangler’s noose.’

  Three girls stepped forward.

  ‘I thought as much.’ Agrippina pointed towards the door. ‘Get out!’

  The maids fled. The upset and chaos had reached the gallery outside, and there were shouts of despair, the sound of doors being kicked open and closed. I looked out through the window: already people were fleeing the Palatine with bundles on their backs. The reign of terror had begun. Agrippina walked back, eyes glittering. She caught at my arm and made me sit on the couch beside her.

  ‘Are you safe, Domina?’

  ‘For the time being, yes.’ She smiled coldly. ‘Sejanus hated my family so we can hardly be regarded as his friends. And how is our August Emperor?’

  ‘Rotting,’ I replied. ‘Though his brain is still sharp and his reach is long.’

  Agrippina played a tattoo on her knee with her fingers.

  ‘He will die soon enough. And what of my sweet brother Gaius?’

  ‘A dog,’ I replied. ‘The Emperor’s faithful shadow.’

  Agrippina breathed in noisily. ‘So, he still plays the part?’ she murmured.

  ‘Domina, your brother is insane. Anyone who stays in Capri for long . . . !’

  ‘He can be managed, he will be managed,’ she replied.

  ‘Well, what’s this?’ A man, his hair and beard the colour of copper, lurched through the door. He was dressed in a tunic and toga which were purple stained, and, despite the early hour, he carried a deep-bowled cup. One of his sandals was loose and it slapped on the floor as he staggered across to Agrippina. He stopped to paw at one of the serving girl’s breasts.

  ‘Domitius,’ Agrippina cooed, her voice and smile full of false sweetness. ‘Domitius, you’ve been partying again, haven’t you?’

  She went across to him. He glared over her shoulder at me.

  ‘Who’s that?’ he slurred. ‘He’s too ugly to be a lover. And what’s happening outside? There are soldiers everywhere with drawn swords and there’s a corpse in the yard. Someone stabbed him in the back.’

  ‘Sejanus has fallen.’

  Agrippina ordered me with her eyes to leave the couch, as she steered her drunken husband towards it. ‘You are too tired,’ she soothed, ‘for all this excitement.’

  She loosened the cup from his hand, put it on the floor and persuaded him to lie down on the couch. For a while she stared contemptuously down at his drunken face.

  ‘Drunken sot!’ she declared. ‘He’ll sleep for hours and wake with a headache.’ She came over and grasped my hand. ‘Parmenon, the blood-letting has begun. You must keep a still tongue in your head, and say nothing about Capri, the Emperor or my brother Gaius. And you must keep your distance from Macro!’

  ‘Is he your lover?’ I blurted out.

  ‘I have no lovers, Parmenon. Only men I have to deal with.’

  ‘And me?’

  ‘Why, Parmenon, you are my right hand. We are one.’ She glanced towards the door. ‘Go and see what happens to Sejanus and report back to me. Remember what I have said!’

  She pushed me out of the room. In the corridor she held me back.

  ‘You have done well, Parmenon.’ Her voice was excited. ‘You and I are locked together like spokes in a wheel: don’t you understand that?’

 
A scream echoed up the stairs. One of the soldiers was helping himself to a slave girl.

  ‘You left me vulnerable,’ I accused.

  ‘Don’t moan!’ Agrippina’s face turned ugly. ‘Remember the arena. You wanted to enter, so now you must fight or you die. Do what you have to!’ Her face softened. She waggled her fingers, like a little girl saying goodbye, and went back into the room.

  The Palatine was now in uproar. Macro, using the Emperor’s warrant, had ringed the entire hill with troops from the Urban Cohort. These had already caught some of Sejanus’s followers who were being led off to the city prisons with bound hands and bloody faces. A few members of Sejanus’s personal bodyguard had attempted resistance, only to die in an untidy, bloody heap in a corner of the square. Macro’s men recognised me and I was let through. I raced up the steps leading to the great enclosure of the Temple of Apollo, where there were more corpses and ever-widening pools of blood. Severed heads already decorated the spikes which fringed the Stairs of Sighs.

  In the colonnades I glimpsed the bodies of more victims, strung up from iron torch-holders and left to swing softly in the morning breeze. I reached the temple doors where Macro stood surrounded by his officers.

  ‘You have been to see Agrippina, haven’t you?’ Macro sneered. ‘Clever and quick as a rat, eh? You should . . .’

  His words were drowned by a roar from inside the temple. Sejanus, a parody of what he had been, was dragged out, his face bloody, his clothes torn. As he was pushed towards Macro, I saw that his mouth was nothing but a bloody mess: the clicking tongue had been silenced for ever. Macro stared, head to one side, as if he couldn’t really believe what he was seeing.

  ‘Well, well, Sejanus,’ he sighed. ‘Life is like a game of dice.’

  Sejanus’s eyes turned to me with a flicker of recognition. I hardly recognised his bruised and battered face. The hair had been torn from his head, oozing cuts sliced his arms and shoulders, there were even teeth marks where his enemies had bitten him. He opened his mouth in a hideous moan.

  ‘What’s that?’ Macro asked, leaning forward. ‘You want to see the Emperor? Rome can no longer tolerate such treason.’ His voice rose. ‘Bring him with me!’

  Macro gestured at me to follow, in what was supposed to be a triumphant procession across the Palatine to Sejanus’s palace. Macro swaggered in front surrounded by his guards, their shields up and swords drawn. Sejanus, now bound by ropes, was led like a reluctant horse, as the assembled mob hurled abuse at him. Men, women and children pushed and shoved at him, pelting him with rotten food and other missiles, spitting and cursing at the Emperor’s fallen favourite. Our journey became a trail of blood, until even Macro tired of the fun. The guards drove the mob off as we entered the colonnades. We crossed a garden, went down some steps and I found myself in the same torture chamber I’d visited when I had first met Sejanus. The guards were left in the corridor. Macro’s officers, myself included, watched as the prisoner was made to squat on a stool. The executioners stepped forward, their faces covered by ghastly animal masks. A noose was placed round Sejanus’s throat, and a small, steel rod was slipped through the knot, which the executioner slowly turned. I glanced away, as terrible groans and gasps came from the dying man. One of Macro’s men joked about eyes popping out. Sejanus’s feet beat the floor to the jeers and laughter of the onlookers. Once it was over, hooks were fastened to the corpse and it was dragged out along the passageway, through the city and thrown down the Steps of Mourning. The mob were encouraged to tear and pluck at it, so viciously that the executioner had difficulty in finding a piece of flesh big enough to place the hooks in to drag Sejanus’s corpse down to the Tiber.

  As the old year gave way to the new, the killings, proscriptions and denunciations gathered pace. It was the age of the informer and spy. Every week Tiberius sent a list from Capri denouncing his enemies, even his friends. Father turned on son, brother against brother. Some men acted nobly. One senator, when accused of being a friend of Sejanus, rose in the Senate and proclaimed.

  ‘Yes, I was and so was Tiberius. I was proud of being Sejanus’s friend. What treason is there in that?’

  His courage and ability saved him. Others were not so fortunate. Agrippina and I became silent observers of the mounting horror. She refused to leave the palace but stayed in her quarters or walked in the garden.

  ‘Will the Emperor now show mercy to your mother and Drusus?’ I asked.

  Agrippina was painting a doll, a gift for the daughter of one of her handmaids.

  ‘Tiberius never forgets and never forgives. He will compromise. Gaius and his sisters will survive but there will be no mercy shown to the rest.’

  She held the doll up, her tongue half-sticking out of her mouth as she painted its face.

  ‘I’ll keep quiet and hide deep in the shadows.’ She put the brush down and wiped her fingers on a rag. ‘It’s going to be a pretty doll, isn’t it, Parmenon? If I can’t have children at least I can look after those of others.’

  ‘Why can’t you have children?’

  ‘You could have taught them grammar, Parmenon. I should have said, won’t.’ Her eyes became fierce and hard. ‘I’ll never have children whilst that monster on Capri lives. Until he’s dead, no one’s safe.’

  Agrippina’s prophecy was as shrewd as it was accurate. Apicata, Sejanus’s estranged wife, wrote a letter to Tiberius denouncing her dead husband as the murderer of Tiberius’s son Drusus. She then took a warm bath, opened her veins and escaped the Emperor’s vengeance. The news drove Tiberius to the edge of madness: no possible rival was safe. On Pandateria, Agrippina’s mother was starved to death. Her brother Drusus was never released from prison; he died a starving madman, tearing and eating the stuffing from his own mattress.

  More deaths occurred. Tiberius’s old colleague, Sextus Letillus, opened his veins when the Emperor denounced him but promptly closed them, thinking he might escape with a begging letter. When he received Tiberius’s reply, he quickly opened his veins again and announced that he welcomed death. One senator took poison in the Senate, drinking it cheerfully whilst he denounced Tiberius’s cruelty and rapacity. Another senator, Sabinus, was executed and his body exposed on the Steps of Mourning. His faithful dog brought food every day and placed it close to the dead man’s mouth. Even when the corpse was thrown into the Tiber, the animal plunged into the water and kept it afloat before the admiring gaze of the people, who saw it as a clear sign of the dead man’s innocence.

  Youth and innocence were no defence. Sejanus’s children went under the knife. His son was old enough to know what was happening, but his young daughter, distraught, kept asking everyone what she had done wrong and where was she being taken? As she was a virgin, the executioner violated the girl immediately before strangling her. Both corpses were exposed to the public view.

  I tried to draw Agrippina into conversation about what would happen next but she shook her head. She never mourned her mother or brother: that was too dangerous and could be taken as treason. She grew thinner, paler. She went to bed late and rose early, busying herself with humdrum tasks. I was aware of her tension. Sometimes she would let me embrace her or hold her hand but then she would push me away. Some days she’d disappear and come back red-eyed, with bruises on her arms and legs. I suspected she was visiting Macro, Rome’s new master, and her only link with Tiberius. Days, months and years slid one into the other. If Agrippina kept free of the politics of Rome, she also ensured I did the same. I was never entrusted with any secret tasks or sent on mysterious errands. Instead I became her steward and secretary, kept busy organising stores and purchasing goods. Occasionally I would be sent out to her villa at Antium to check that all was well there.

  ‘You’ve done well,’ she once remarked. ‘What you did in Capri, Parmenon, was more than enough. I will keep you like an arrow in my quiver. Hidden from public gaze until the time comes . . .’

  Chapter 7

  ‘O fairer daughter of a fair Mother!’

  Ho
race, Odes: I:16

  Early in the spring of Tiberius’s last year, just after a Roman force had been ambushed and cut to pieces by the Frisians on the empire’s northern border and the survivors cruelly tortured, Agrippina dropped her mask.

  At first I thought it was the break in the weather: a sudden, glorious spring had transformed Rome in bursts of golden sunlight, fresh flowers, and sweetness in the air. The blood bath had begun to abate; the list of proscriptions appearing less often in the Forum as Tiberius became more engrossed with the security of Rome’s frontiers. The change in Agrippina began almost imperceptibly, but once I had noticed it, I realised that her spirit had revived. She met me early one afternoon, in one of those flowery grottoes so lovingly designed by imperial gardeners. She’d been reading poetry again and talked about visiting the theatre. She looked round like a young girl ready for mischief, placed her reading tray on the turf seat beside her, got up and put her arms round my neck.

  ‘Parmenon, I am pregnant!’

  She seemed so excited, so full of life. I tried to hide my jealousy. ‘Which means,’ I replied sourly, ‘Tiberius must be dying.’

  This was one of those bitter remarks which slip from your tongue before you can think. It was also highly dangerous. On any other occasion Agrippina would have been angry but today she drew me closer, those dark eyes bubbling with laughter.

  ‘Parmenon, you should be an astrologer. The monster is dying!’

  Now I was nervous. I pulled away and went to the edge of the arbour and stared round the garden. Agrippina was always cunning: there was no one about.

  ‘You don’t believe me do you?’ she asked. ‘Parmenon, the old cadaver is dying at last. I doubt if he’ll last till summer.’

  ‘How do you know this?’

  ‘Oh I do. But you have fresh orders: you’re to visit Tiberius.’

  ‘Orders?’ I demanded. ‘Is that what I am now, Domina, your lackey?’

  ‘Parmenon, Parmenon.’ She held her stomach. ‘Believe me, if I thought Tiberius would live, I would never have conceived.’