by Mika Waltari
I drew in my breath sharply and asked him to forgive my lack of perception. When I asked him what sum he would consider adequate, he smiled and patted my shoulder.
“Perhaps,” he said, “it would be best if you consulted your wealthy father, Marcus Mezentius, on the matter.”
I went straight to my father and asked him whether, for instance, ten gold pieces would be too large a sum for a philosopher who loved modesty and a simple life. My father burst out laughing.
“I know Seneca’s modest little habits,” he said. “Leave it all to me and don’t worry about it anymore.”
Later I heard that he had sent Seneca a thousand gold pieces, or a hundred thousand sesterces, which in my opinion was an enormous sum. But Seneca was not offended but, if possible, he treated me even more kindly than before, to show that he had forgiven my father for his upstart’s extravagance.
I worked for several months as Seneca’s assistant in the Praetorium. He was absolutely just in his decisions, all of which he carefully weighed. No lawyer could bamboozle him with mere eloquence, for he himself was the greatest orator of the day. In spite of this, people who lost their cases spread rumors that he accepted bribes. Of course, such rumors were heard about all praetors. But Seneca said definitely that he had never received a gift before a judgment had been made.
“On the other hand,” he said, “if it is a matter of ownership of a plot which is worth a million sesterces, it’s only natural that the winner of the case afterwards should give the judge a gift or two. No official can live on a praetor’s salary alone and pay for free performances at the theater during his term of office.”
Spring had come again. Under the influence of the green grass, the warm sun and the notes of the cittern, the stilted legal phrases were banished from our thoughts by the lighthearted verses of Ovid and Propertius. I had been waiting for an opportunity to solve the problem of Claudia and it occurred to me that Agrippina was the only person who could do this with magnanimity and justice. I could not tell Aunt Laelia about Claudia, or Tullia-her least of all. One lovely afternoon when the clouds over Rome shone with gold, the opportunity arose when Nero took me to the gardens on Pincius. There we found his mother busy giving instructions to the gardeners for the spring. She was flushed with the warmth and her face lit up, as always, when she saw her handsome son.
“What’s wrong with you, Minutus Manilianus?” she said to me. “You look as if you had some secret sorrow. Your eyes are restless and you won’t look me straight in the eye.”
I was forced to look into her eyes, which were as clear and wise as those of a goddess.
“Would you really permit me to put my problem to you?” I stammered.
She led me to one side, away from the gardeners and the slaves grubbing in the earth, and asked me to speak honestly and without fear. I told her about Claudia, but my first words made her start, although the expression on her calm face did not change.
“Plautia Urgulanilla’s reputation was always doubtful,” she said thoughtfully. “In my youth I knew her, although I wish now that I hadn’t. How is it possible that you came to know a girl like that? As far as I know, she is not allowed to set foot inside the city walls. Isn’t she a goatherd somewhere on Aulus Plautius’ farm?”
I told her how we had met, but as I went on, Agrippina kept interrupting me with questions-as she said, to get to the root of the matter.
“We love each other,” I managed to say at last, “and I’d like to marry her if a way to do so can be found.”
“Minutus,” protested Agrippina shortly, “one just does not marry girls like that.”
I tried to the best of my ability to praise Claudia’s good points, but Agrippina hardly listened to me. With tears in her eyes, she stared at the blood-red sunset over Rome, as if she had been upset by what I had said. Finally, she interrupted me and said, “Have you slept with her? Tell me honestly now.”
I had to tell the truth. I even made the mistake of telling her we were happy together, although this was no longer quite true because of our quarrels. I asked if there was any possibility of a good family adopting Claudia.
“Oh, my poor Minutus,” she said pityingly, “what have you become involved in? In the whole of Rome, there isn’t a single respected family who would adopt her for all the money in the world. If a family were willing to let her bear its name, it would simply show that that family is no longer respected.”
I tried again, carefully choosing my words, but Agrippina was adamant.
“On this point, it is my duty as the protector of the Noble Order of Knights to think of what is best for you and not just of this poor wanton girl,” she said. “You’ve no real idea of her reputation. I don’t want to go into the matter further, as you in your blindness would hardly believe me. But I promise to consider the matter.”
I explained in some confusion that she had misunderstood the whole matter. Claudia was neither wanton nor depraved. If that had been the case, I should never have dreamed of marrying her. Agrippina did at least show great patience with me. By asking me about everything we had done together, Claudia and I, she taught me the difference between virtue and depravity in bed, and made me realize that Claudia was obviously much more experienced than I in these matters.
“The god Augustus himself exiled Ovid, whose immoral book tried to show that love was an art,” Agrippina explained. “Surely you don’t doubt his judgment. That kind of game belongs to the brothels. That’s proved by your not being able to look into my eyes without blushing.”
Anyhow, I felt as if a great weight had been lifted from my shoulders when I had left the matter with Agrippina to deal with. I happily hurried out of the city to tell Claudia that our affairs were in good hands. I had not told her my intentions beforehand so as not to raise false hopes.
When I told her about my talk with Agrippina, Claudia turned pale with horror, so that the freckles on each side of her nose stood out dark brown against her gray skin.
“Minutus, Minutus,” she wailed, “what have you done? Are you completely out of your mind?”
Of course, I was bitterly offended that she should be so lacking in understanding when I thought I was doing it all on her behalf. It had taken considerable moral courage to discuss such a delicate matter with the first lady of Rome. I tried to ask Claudia what she had against the noble Agrippina, but she would explain nothing. She just sat as if paralyzed, her hands in her lap, refusing even to look at me.
Caressing her made no difference either. Claudia brushed me aside brusquely and in the end I could only imagine that she had something on her conscience which she either would not or could not tell me. I could extract no other answer from her except that it was not worth explaining to me if I was really so simple-minded as to trust a woman like Agrippina.
I left her in a fury, for it was she who had spoiled everything by her perpetual talk of marriage and the future. I had already gone quite a way when she appeared in her doorway and called after me.
“Do we part like this, Minutus?” she cried. “Haven’t you a single kind word for me? Perhaps we shall never meet again.”
Understandably, I was disappointed that she had not submitted to my caresses, as in former reconciliations. So I swore at her.
“By Hercules,” I shouted, “I hope we never meet again!”
I regretted it the moment I reached the bridge over the Tiber, and I would have turned back if my masculine pride had not stopped me.
Nothing happened for a month. Then one day, Seneca took me aside.
“Minutus Lausus,” he said, “you are twenty now and it’s time you learned about the administration of a province, for the sake of your career. As you probably know, my brother has been given the province of Achaia for a number of years for his services. Now he has written to me to say that he needs an assistant who knows the laws and has some military experience. You are a little young, of course, but I think I know you well enough. And your father has been so generous to me that I feel you
should have this excellent opportunity of making progress. It would be best if you went as soon as possible. You can go to Brindisi at once. From there, you can take the first ship to Corinth.”
I realized that this was an order, not just a favor. But a young man in my position could hardly have asked for a better post. Corinth is a lively, happy city and ancient Athens not far away. I should be able to visit all the memorable Hellenic places on tours of inspection. On my return after a couple of years, I could perhaps apply for office. The thirty-year age limit could often be pruned down with the help of special merit and good connections. I thanked Seneca reverently and began at once to prepare for the long journey.
In fact the assignment came at the most favorable moment. It was known in Rome that the British tribes had risen to test Ostorius. Vespasian they knew, but Ostorius was not yet familiar with the circumstances in Britain. I had already feared that I might be sent back there and I had no wish whatsoever to go. Even the Icenis, who had hitherto been Rome’s most peaceful and reliable allies, had begun to make forays over their river boundary, and because of Lugunda, it would have been difficult to fight against them.
Nevertheless, I felt I could not leave without saying good-bye to Claudia, however unpleasant she had been. So one day I walked over to the other side of the Tiber, but Claudia’s hut was barred and empty, no one answered my shouts, and her flock of sheep had gone. I hurried over to the Plautius farm in surprise and inquired about her. But I was received coldly and no one seemed to have the least idea where Claudia was. It was as if it were forbidden to speak her name.
I was so worried that I hurried back to the city and went to see Aunt Paulina at Plautius’ house. The old woman, in mourning as usual, received me more tearfully than ever but would not give me any direct information about Claudia.
“The less you talk about the matter the better,” she said, looking at me with hostility. “You’ve brought ruin to her, but perhaps it would have happened anyhow, sooner or later. You’re still young and I find it hard to believe that you know what you’ve done. Nevertheless, I cannot forgive you. I pray to God that He will forgive you.”
I was filled with dismay and forebodings over this secretiveness. I did not know what to believe. As far as I was concerned I did not feel guilty, for what had happened between Claudia and me had been of her own free will. But I was in a hurry.
After changing my clothes, I went quickly to Palatine to say goodbye to Nero, who said that he envied me my chance of becoming acquainted with ancient Greek culture. Holding my hand as a sign of friendship, he led me to his mother, although Agrippina was busy with Pallas over the treasury accounts. Pallas was considered to be the richest man in Rome. He was so haughty that he never spoke to his slaves, just expressing his desires with hand gestures which everyone had to interpret immediately.
Agrippina was evidently not pleased to be disturbed, but as usual she was pleased to see Nero. She wished me success in my assignment, warned me about the frivolity of Corinth, and hoped that I would seek out the best in Hellenic culture but return a good Roman.
I stammered out something, looking straight at her and making a gesture of appeal. She understood without words what I wanted. Freed-man Pallas did not even deign to look at me, but rustled impatiently with his scrolls and wrote figures on his wax tablet. Agrippina told Nero that he could usefully watch how skillfully Pallas added large sums, and led me to another room.
“It would be better if Nero did not hear what we have to say,” she said. “He’s an innocent boy, although he wears the man-toga.”
That was not true, for Nero himself had boasted of sleeping with a slave-girl, and also of trying out relations with a boy for the fun of it-although I could hardly tell his mother that. Agrippina looked at me with her clear eyes and a goddesslike expression and sighed.
“I know you want to hear something about Claudia,” she said. “I don’t want to disappoint you. I know how hard one takes these things when one is young. But it is better that you have your eyes opened in time, however much it hurts.
“I’ve had Claudia put under supervision,” she went on. “For your sake, I had to know the truth about her life and habits. I don’t mind that she disobeyed when she was expressly forbidden to show herself inside the city walls. Neither do I mind that she partook in certain slaves’ secret meals, at which I gather some not very pleasant things happened. But it was unforgivable that, outside the city and without the necessary health supervision, she used to sell herself for money to foremen, shepherds and anyone else.”
This dreadful and unbelievable accusation left me speechless, and Agrippina gave me a look of pity.
“The matter has been dealt with by the police court with the minimum publicity,” she said. “There were many witnesses. For your own sake, I won’t tell you who they were. You would be too ashamed. Out of mercy, Claudia has not been punished as the law demands. She has not been whipped, nor has her head been shaven. She has been sent away for a certain length of time to a closed house in a country town to better her ways. I shall not tell you where it is, so that you don’t go and do something stupid. If you still want to see her when you return from Greece, I’ll arrange it for you, as long as she has improved. But you must promise that you will not try to make contact with her before then. You owe that to me.”
Her explanation was so inconceivable that I felt my knees give way and I almost fainted. I could do nothing but remember everything about Claudia which had seemed strange to me-her experience and the fact that she was unusually hot-blooded. Agrippina put her lovely hand on my arm and shook her head slowly.
“Examine your conscience well, Minutus,” she said. “Only your youthful vanity stops you from seeing how cruelly you have been betrayed. Learn from this and don’t trust depraved women and what they say to you. It was lucky for you that you managed to extricate yourself in time by turning to me. You were wise to do so.”
I stared at her in an attempt to find even the slightest sign of uncertainty in her plump face and clear eyes. She stroked my cheek lightly.
“Look into my eyes, Minutus Lausus,” she said. “Whom do you believe more, me or that simple girl who so cruelly betrayed your innocent trust in her?”
My common sense and my confused feelings vied with each other to say that I must believe this gentlewoman, the Emperor’s consort, more than Claudia. I bowed my head, for hot tears were rising in my eyes from painful disappointment. Agrippina pressed my face to her soft bosom. Suddenly I felt an excited trembling in my body and was even more ashamed of myself.
“Please don’t thank me now, although I’ve done much for you that has been distasteful to me,” she whispered in my ear, so that I felt her warm breath and trembled even more. “I know that you will come and thank me later, when you’ve had time to think the matter over. I have saved you from the worst danger a young man can meet on the threshold of manhood.”
Cautiously, for fear of some unexpected witness, she pushed me away and gave me a lovely smile. My face was so burning hot and tear-stained that I did not want anyone to see it. Agrippina sent me away a back way. I walked down the steep alley of the Goddess of Victory with my head bowed, and I stumbled on the white stones.
Book V
Corinth
Corinth is a metropolis, the most lively and lighthearted metropolis in the world, according to its own citizens. Although Mummius razed it to the ground two hundred years ago, the city, risen from the ashes, has today gathered half a million inhabitants from countries all over the world, thanks largely to the foresight of the god Julius Caesar. From the Acropolis, the city and its streets appear to glow with light well into the night. For a melancholy youth brooding bitterly over his own gullibility, Corinth and its colorful life is in truth a cure.
But my servant Hierex many a time regretted that he had so tearfully begged me to buy him as he stood on the slave dealer’s platform in Rome. He could read, write, massage, cook, haggle with the tradesmen and speak both Greek and
broken Latin. He assured me he had traveled in many countries with his previous masters and learned to smooth the way for them.
The price asked for him was so high that he ought to have been a slave of the highest quality, though of course there turned out to be reasons for a reduction. Hierex asked me not to haggle too much, for his master had given him up reluctantly for financial reasons caused by a court action. I guessed that Hierex would receive a share of his own price if he could raise it with his glib tongue. But in the state of mind I was in at the time, I was not in a position to haggle.
Hierex naturally hoped for a friendly young master and was afraid of ending up in a carefully run household of jaundiced old people. My silence and melancholy taught him to hold his tongue, however difficult that was, for he was a real Greek chatterer by birth. Not even the journey distracted me and I did not want to speak to anyone. So I gave orders as Pallas did, with gestures only. He did his best to serve me, probably fearing that behind my dismal exterior lay a cruel master who found pleasure in chastising a slave.
Hierex was born and bred as a slave. He was not strong, but I bought him to avoid having to look further, for he had no visible defects and his teeth were good although he was over thirty. Naturally I guessed there was something wrong with him for him to be for sale at all, but in my position I could not travel without a servant. At first he was nothing but a torment to me, but when I had taught him to keep silent and look as gloomy as myself, he took care of my luggage, my clothes and my food very well. He could even shave my still youthful beard without cutting me too badly.
He had been to Corinth before and he chose quarters for us in the Ship and Lantern Inn, near the temple of Neptune.” He was astonished that I did not at once hurry off to make a thank-offering for the successful outcome of a dangerous journey, but instead, after washing and changing, at once went to the forum to report to the Proconsul.