The Roman sotk-2

by Mika Waltari

  Lucius looked searchingly at me in the belief that I had meant more with my words than I had.

  “Undoubtedly Rome is full of flies,” he admitted. “Real carrion flies too. It would be better if I kept my mouth shut because I know perfectly well your father retrieved his rank of knighthood thanks only to the Emperor’s conceited freedman. I suppose you know that delegates from cities and kings bow and scrape to Narcissus and that he has amassed a fortune of a couple of hundred million sesterces by selling privileges and official positions. Valeria Messalina is even more avaricious. By having one of the oldest men in Rome murdered, she acquired the gardens of Lucullus on the Pincian hill. She has had her rooms in Palatine made into a brothel and not content with that, she spends many nights in disguise and under a false name in the bawdy houses in Subura, where she sleeps wdth anyone for a few coppers just for the fun of it.”

  I clapped my hands over my ears and said that Narcissus was a Greek with fine manners and I could not believe the things that were said about the Emperor’s beautiful wife with her clear ringing laugh.

  “Messalina is only seven years older than we are,” I said. “She also has two lovely children and at the festival performances she sits with the Vestal Virgins.”

  “Emperor Claudius’ shame and ignominy in the marriage bed are well known as far away as in the enemy countries, in Parthia and in Germany,” Lucius said. “Gossip is gossip, but I personally know young knights who boast that they’ve slept with her on the Emperor’s orders. Claudius orders everyone to obey Messalina, whatever she demands of them.”

  “Lucius,” I said, “what young men boast about you know only too well from your symposiums. The shyer one is in the company of women, the more one boasts and invents conquests when one has had a bit of wine to drink. That such gossip is known abroad too, seems to me to show that it is deliberately spread by someone. The bigger the lie, the more likely it is to be believed. Human beings have a natural tendency to believe what they are told. Just that kind of lie which tickles a depraved palate, people believe most easily.”

  Lucius flushed.

  “I have another explanation,” he whispered in an almost trembling voice. “Perhaps Valeria Messalina really was a virgin when she was married at fifteen to that fifty-year-old depraved drunkard Claudius, whom even his own family despised. It was Claudius who debauched Messalina, giving her myrrh to drink so that she became a nymphomaniac. Now Claudius is finished and it’s not impossible that he deliberately closes his eyes. In any case he certainly demands of Messalina that she constantly sends new slave-girls to his bed, the younger the better. What he does to them is another matter. All this Messalina herself has in tears confessed to a person whom I do not wish to name but whom I believe absolutely.”

  “We are friends, Lucius,” I said, “but you are of very noble birth and son of a senator, so you’re not competent to speak on the subject. I know that the Senate brought in the republic when Emperor Gaius was murdered. Then the Praetorians accidentally found his uncle, Claudius, hiding behind a curtain when they plundered Palatine and proclaimed him Emperor because he was the only one who held that right by birth. It’s such an old story that no one even laughs at it anymore. But I’m not surprised that Claudius relies more on his freedmen and his children’s mother than on the Senate.”

  “Would you choose a mentally deranged tyrant before freedom?” asked Lucius bitterly.

  “A republic under the Senate and the Consuls doesn’t mean democratic freedom, but is rule by aristocracy,” I said. “Plundering of the provinces and new civil wars, that much do I understand from the history I have read. Be content with reforming Rome from within with Greek culture and don’t talk nonsense.”

  Lucius was forced to laugh.

  “It’s strange that one has absorbed the ideals of republicanism with one’s mother’s milk,” he said. “It makes me hotheaded. But perhaps the republic is nothing but a relic of the past. I’m going back to my books. Then I can do no harm to anyone, not even to myself.”

  “And Rome can remain full of carrion flies,” I conceded. “Neither you nor I can get rid of them.”

  The most surprising honor which came my way as I lay tormented by my inactivity and my gloomy thoughts was a visit from the leader of the noble boys, the ten-year-old Lucius Domitius. He came with his mother, Agrippina, quite unpretentiously and without prior notice. They left their sedan and following outside the house and only came in for a brief moment to commiserate with me over my accident. Bar-bus, who during my illness was acting as doorkeeper to the household, was of course drunk and asleep. Domitius jokingly gave him a light punch on the forehead and shouted out an order, at which Barbus, dazed with sleep, sprang to attention, raised his hand in salute and barked, “Ave, Caesar imperator.”

  Agrippina asked him why he greeted the boy as an Emperor. Barbus said that he had dreamt that a centurion had hit him on the head with his stave. When he had opened his eyes he had seen in front of him, in the midday sun, a huge celestial Juno and an Emperor in glittering armor inspecting their troops. Not until they had spoken to him had his sight cleared and he had recognized Domitius and guessed that Agrippina was his mother by her goddesslike beauty and stature.

  “And I wasn’t far wrong,” he said flatteringly. “You are sister to Emperor Gaius and Emperor Claudius is your uncle. On the god Julius Caesar’s side you are descended from Venus and on Marcus Antonius’ side from Hercules. So it’s not all that strange that I greeted your son with the highest possible token of honor.”

  Aunt Laelia was completely confused by such a grand visitation and ran around with her wig askew, straightening out my bedclothes and chattering reproachfully that Agrippina should have informed us beforehand of her arrival so that the household could have been prepared.

  “You know very well, dear Laelia,” said Agrippina sadly, “that it’s safest for me to avoid official visits since the death of my sister. But my son had to come and see his hero Minutus Lausus. So we looked in to wish him a quick recovery.”

  This lively, attractive and, despite his red hair, handsome boy hurried shyly up to give me a kiss and then drew back in admiration as he looked at my face.

  “Oh, Minutus,” he cried. “You have indeed earned the name Magnus more than any other. If only you knew how I admired your amazing courage. None of the spectators had the slightest idea that you’d broken your leg when you remained in the saddle right to the end.”

  Domitius took a scroll from his mother and handed it to me. Agrippina turned to Aunt Laelia apologetically.

  “It’s a book on balance of mind,” she explained, “which my friend Seneca has written in Corsica. It’s a good book for a youngster who is suffering from the consequences of his own foolhardiness. If he at the same time should wonder why such a noble-minded man must spend his life buried alive in exile, then it is because of the present situation in Rome and not because of me.”

  But Aunt Laelia did not have the patience to listen. She was much too taken up with offering some kind of refreshment. It would have been a matter of shame if such distinguished guests had left without partaking of anything.

  Agrippina protested but finally said, “In your house, we should be glad to taste a little of that refreshing lemon drink which your brave invalid has in a jug by his bed. My son can share one of the buns.”

  Aunt Laelia stared at her with wide-open eyes.

  “Dearest Agrippina,” she said in horror, “have things already reached such lengths?”

  Agrippina was then thirty-four years old. She was a statuesque woman, her features aristocratic if also expressionless, and her eyes were large and brilliant. To my horror, I saw those clear eyes fill with tears. She lowered her head and wept silently.

  “You guess correctly, Laelia,” she said at last. “It is safest for me to fetch water from the pipe with my own hands for my son, and for me to choose from the market what I dare eat myself and let him eat. The people cheered him too openly at the festivities. Three
days ago someone tried to kill him at his midday siesta. I no longer even trust the servants. It was strange that none of them was near and that a complete stranger with evil intentions could get into the house without any of them seeing him. So it occurred to me-but perhaps it’s best to say nothing.”

  Naturally Aunt Laelia was curious, which had perhaps been the intention all along, and she began to question Agrippina about what it was that had occurred to her.

  “I thought that Lucius needed the constant companionship,” she said after a moment’s hesitation, “of a few young noblemen whose loyalty I could rely on and who at the same time would set him a good example. But no, no, it would only bring them misfortune. They would be jeopardizing their futures.”

  Aunt Laelia was not very pleased with this suggestion and I was not really sure enough of myself to dare think that Agrippina meant me.

  But Lucius put his hand shyly on mine and cried, “If you, Minutus, were by my side, I’d never be afraid of anything or anyone.”

  Aunt Laelia began to stammer that it could be misunderstood if Lucius Domitius began to gather a following of nobles around his person.

  “I can already walk a little on crutches,” I said quickly. “Soon my thigh will have healed. Perhaps I’ll be lame for life, but if it doesn’t make me look foolish, I’d be glad to be Lucius’ companion and protect him until he’s old enough to look after himself. That won’t be very long. You are already big for your age and you can ride and use weapons.”

  To be quite honest, he looked more girlish than manly, with his graceful movements and his elaborate hair style. This impression was strengthened even more by the milk-white complexion that redheads usually have. But I remembered he was only ten and yet could ride a horse and drive a chariot at displays. A boy like that could not be completely childish.

  We talked for a little while longer, about horses and Greek poets and singers he seemed to admire, but we came to no particular decision. I realized that I should be welcome at Agrippina’s house at any time. They left and Agrippina asked her purse-bearer to give Barbus a gold coin.

  “She’s very lonely,” explained Aunt Laelia afterwards. “Her noble birth keeps her apart from other people and her equals daren’t be seen with her for fear of incurring the Emperor’s displeasure. It’s sad to see such an exalted woman turning to a lame young nobleman for friendship.”

  I was not hurt by her words, for I had myself wondered the same thing.

  “Is she really afraid of being poisoned?” I asked carefully.

  Aunt Laelia snorted.

  “She makes too much of things,” she said. “No one is murdered in broad daylight in an inhabited house in the middle of Rome. The story sounded invented to me. You’d better not get mixed up in that sort of thing. It is true that Emperor Gaius, the dear boy, had a chest full of poisons with which he experimented. But Emperor Claudius had it destroyed and poisoners are always severely punished. You know, I suppose, that Agrippina’s husband, Lucius’ father Domitius, was a brother of Domitia Lepida, Messalina’s mother? When Lucius was three, he inherited everything from him, but Gaius kept it all. Agrippina was exiled and to survive she had to learn to dive for sponges on an island far away. Lucius was cared for by his aunt, Domitia. The hairdresser, Anicetus, was his tutor as you can still see from his hair. But now Domitia Lepida has quarreled with her daughter Messalina, and is one of the few who dare to be seen openly with Agrippina and spoil Lucius. Messalina uses the name of her grandfather, Valerius Messala, to show she is directly descended from the god Augustus. The mother is angry with her because she all too openly shows her affection for Gaius Silius, goes with him everywhere, is as at home in his house and with his freedmen and slaves as she is at her own, and has even taken valuable inherited furniture there from Palatine. On the other hand, it is all very natural, for Silius is the handsomest man in Rome. It could even all be quite innocent, as it’s all so open. A young woman can’t be forever in the company of a bad-tempered old drunkard. Claudius inevitably neglects her because of his official duties and in his spare time he prefers to play dice to going to the theater. He prefers to go to the amphitheater too, to see the wild animals tearing criminals to pieces, and that’s not very suitable for a refined young woman to watch.”

  “That’s enough about Messalina now,” I cried, clapping my hands to my ears. “My head is in a whirl of relationships between these families.”

  But Aunt Laelia had been roused by our distinguished visitors.

  “The whole thing is quite simple,” she went on. “The god Augustus was the grandson of the god Julius Caesar’s sister. By his sister Octavia’s first marriage, Messalina is the daughter of Octavia’s grandson, while Emperor Claudius, by Octavia’s second marriage with Marcus Antonius, is grandson to Octavia. Agrippina is his niece, but at the same time widow of Octavia’s second grandson Gnaius Domitius, so Lucius Domitius is therefore-listen now-at the same time grandson to Octavia’s first daughter and grandson to the second daughter and in fact a sibling to Messalina.”

  “Then Emperor Claudius has married for the third time, to his mother’s half sister’s granddaughter who calls herself Valeria Messalina, if I’ve got it right,” I said. “In fact then, Messalina is of just as noble birth as Agrippina?”

  “More or less,” admitted Aunt Laelia. “But she has none of Marcus Antonius’ depraved blood in her, which the others all suffer so much from. Her son Britannicus has of course some of it through Claudius to the extent… “

  “To the extent…?” I repeated questioningly.

  “Well, Claudius had an illegitimate child before,” Aunt Laelia said reluctantly, “It’s not absolutely certain that Britannicus is really his son, when one knows everything that’s said about Messalina. It was said at the time that that marriage was arranged by Emperor Gaius just to save the girl’s reputation.”

  “Aunt Laelia,” I said solemnly. “From loyalty to the Emperor, I ought to denounce you for insults like that.”

  “As if Claudius would believe anything bad about his lovely child-wife,” snorted Aunt Laelia.

  But she looked around carefully all the same.

  Afterwards I asked Barbus whether he had really had such a prophetic dream just as he had wakened from his drunken sleep, and he maintained stubbornly that he had in fact seen what he had described, although it could have come from the wine and the surprise.

  “Wine makes you have such strange dreams in the heat of the summer,” he said, “that it’s quite frightening sometimes.”

  When I had been walking on crutches for a while, the cavalry doctor found me a good masseur who treated my legs and exercised my slack muscles so well that I could soon walk unaided. I have worn a thick-soled shoe on the injured foot ever since, so my limp is scarcely noticeable.

  I began to ride again, but soon noticed that only a very few young nobles chose to take part in the riding exercises. Most of them had no thought of a military career. For them it was sufficient if they could somehow remain in the saddle for next year’s parade.

  A resdessness and a desire for activity seized me in the heat of the summer. Once or twice I went to see Lucius Domitius, but in spite of everything he was much too childish company for me. He was busy writing poems and he read verses to me from his wax tablet and asked me to correct them. He modeled surprisingly well and fashioned animals and people out of clay. He was very pleased if you praised him but was easily hurt if you made critical remarks, although he tried to hide it. He seriously suggested that I should take lessons from his dancing master so that I could learn to move gracefully with pleasing gestures.

  “The art of dancing is not much use to anyone who is going to learn to use a sword and spear and shield,” I said.

  Lucius said that he hated the sword fights at the amphitheater, in which rough gladiators injured and killed each other.

  “I’m not going to be a gladiator,” I said, offended. “A Roman knight has to learn the skills of war.”

  “War Is n M
omly nnd unnecessary occupation,” he said. “Rome has given peace lo the world. But I’ve heard that a relation of my late father, Gnaius Domitius Corbulo, is skirmishing in Germany on the other side of the Rhine to earn the right of a triumph. If you really want to, I can write to him and recommend you as a tribune. But he’s a hard taskmaster and will make you work hard if he’s not posted away from there. I don’t think Uncle Claudius wants any of my father’s relations to become too famous.” _

  I promised to think about the matter, but Barbus found out more about Corbulo and maintained that he had been more distinguished as a road builder in Gaul than a warrior in the forests of Germany.

  Naturally I read the little book I had been given. The philosopher Seneca wrote in a fine modern style and asserted that a wise man could keep a balance of mind throughout the tests of fate. But I thought he was long-winded, for he gave no examples but just philosophized so that not many of his ideas stayed in my mind.

  My friend Lucius Pollio also lent me a letter of condolence Seneca had written to the Emperor’s freedman Polybius. In it, Seneca was consoling Polybius over the death of his brother, telling him he need not grieve as long as he had the good fortune to be allowed to serve the Emperor.

  What had amused readers in Rome was that Polybius had recently been executed after being found guilty of selling privileges. According to Pollio, he had quarreled with Messalina over the division of the money. Messalina had denounced him which the rest of the Emperor’s freedmen had not liked at all. So the philosopher Seneca had struck bad luck again.

  I was surprised that Claudia had not tried to get in touch with me all through my illness. My self-esteem was hurt, but my good sense told me that I should have more trouble than joy from her. But I could not forget her black eyebrows, her bold eyes and her thick lips. When I was better, I began to go for long walks to strengthen my broken leg and to quell my restlessness. The warm Roman autumn had come. It was too warm to wear a toga and I did not wear my red-bordered tunic so as not to attract too much attention on the outskirts of the city.