by Mika Waltari
To my surprise, Sabina was friendly and even patted my cheeks, which were rather inflamed from Claudia’s blows. She accepted the statuette gratefully and listened willingly, if somewhat absentmindedly, to my account from Baiae and Bauli.
“You’re a man and braver than I thought, Minutus,” said Sabina. “But you mustn’t boast to too many people about what happened. The main thing is that Agrippina is dead. No one will mourn her. That harlot Poppaea, too, has received her due. After this, Nero would never dare divorce Octavia. That much I do know about politics.”
I was surprised at this statement, but Sabina put her hand over my mouth.
“It is spring, Minutus,” she whispered. “The birds are singing and the lions are roaring so that the ground shakes beneath them. I feel a longing and my limbs are on fire, Minutus. And I’ve seriously come to the conclusion that we should have a child, for the sake of both the Flavius family and yours. I don’t think I am a barren woman, although you so hurtfully keep away from my bed.”
Her accusation was unjust, but perhaps her opinion of me had been changed because of what I had done, or perhaps the terrible deed had affected her as a woman, for some women are sexually excited by things like fires and blood running into the sand.
I looked at my wife and there was nothing wrong with her, although her skin was not as white as Lollia Poppaea’s. We slept together for two nights, which we had not done for a long time, but the ecstasy I had felt at the beginning of our married life did not return. Sabina was like wood too, and finally she admitted she had done her duty more for her family than for pleasure, despite the dull roar of the lions through the nights.
Our son was born eight months later. I was afraid we should have to put him out, as is done with prematurely born children. But he was quite healthy and well developed, and the successful birth caused great jubilation in the menagerie. I invited our hundreds of employees to a feast in honor of my firstborn, and could hardly believe the crude animal trainers capable of such tenderness to a newborn child.
We could hardly get rid of the dark-skinned Epaphroditus, who kept pushing forward to pat the child, neglecting the animals’ feeding and insisting on paying for a wet-nurse for the child himself. I agreed to this in the end, as I regarded the offer as an act of homage.
But I could not rid myself of Claudia. When I unsuspectingly returned home to my house on Aventine a few days later, I found all my servants, even Barbus, gathered in the reception room while on my seat of honor in the middle sat the Jewish miracle worker Cephas, with several youths who were quite unknown to me.
One of them was translating Cephas’ Aramaic stories into Latin. Aunt Laelia was dancing about with delight, clapping her gnarled old hands. I was so angry I was about to have all my servants flogged, but Claudia hurriedly explained that Cephas was under the protection of Senator Pudeus Publicolus and was living in his house, away from the Jews on the other side of the river, so as not to cause any more disturbances between Jews and Christians. Pudeus was a silly old man but he was also a Valerian, so I was forced to hold my tongue.
Cephas remembered our meeting in Corinth very well and addressed me by name in a friendly way. He did not demand that I should believe, but I saw that he wished me to be reconciled with Claudia and to put up with her in my house. Somehow this is what finally happened, and to my own surprise I shook hands with Claudia, kissed her, yes, and even joined in their meal since I was, after all, master in my own house.
I do not wish to say any more of this shameful event. Afterwards I asked Barbus sarcastically if he had abandoned Mithras and become a Christian. Barbus did not reply directly but just muttered, “I am old. Rheumatism from my war years torments me so terribly that I will do anything to avoid the pains. And I only have to look at this former fisherman for them to go away. When I’ve eaten of his bread and drunk of his wine, I feel well for several days at a time. The Mithras priests could not cure me although no one knows more than they about legionaries’ rheumatism.”
PART TWO
JULIUS, MY SON
Let us turn to the champions of recent times and pick out the noble examples provided by our generation. It was because of envy and malice that the greatest most upright pillars of the Church were persecuted and had to carry the contest to the point of death. Let us conjure up those good Apostles in our mind’s eye-Peter who, because of wicked envy, had to undergo not one, not two, but many sufferings and, having thus witnessed to our faith, went to the glorious place appointed for him; and it was because of jealousy and strife that Paul became an example of the reward to be won by patient endurance: for he was imprisoned seven times, driven into exile, stoned, became a preacher in both the East and the West, and thereby gained the noble renown which was the reward of his faith, after teaching goodness to the whole world and going to the very farthest West. And so, having witnessed to our faith before the authorities, he left the world and went to the holy place-having proved a splendid example of patient endurance.
These saintly men were joined by a vast number of the chosen who, being victims of jealousy, through many humiliations and tortures set a magnificent example among ourselves. And women who were persecuted through malice and underwent cruel, unholy tortures as Danaides and Dircae, safely attained the goal in the race of faith and, even though weak in body, won a noble prize.
Clement of Rome-Epistle to the Corinthians I: 5, 6.
Book VIII
Poppaea
My wife’s suggestion turned out to be true, insofar as two years elapsed before Nero dared to think seriously of divorcing Octavia. On his return to Rome after the death of his mother, he considered it politically more, prudent to send Poppaea away from Palatine and to spend his nights with her in secret. He pardoned many exiles, reinstated dismissed senators to office and distributed the colossal fortune he had inherited from Agrippina as bribes. Agrippina’s property, possessions and slaves, however, were not gready sought after by the Roman aristocracy. Nero gave the larger part of them to the people at the great circus performance at which he had lots cast out at random among the spectators.
To ease his conscience and win the favor of the people, Nero went as far as to suggest to the Senate that all direct taxation should be abolished. Naturally he himself realized this was impossible, but the Senate was placed in an ignominious position in the eyes of the people since they were forced to reject the suggestion immediately.
Considerable reforms were made on the levying of taxes, certain purchase taxes were lowered and most important of all, in future everyone was to have the right to know how, and why and on what sum he was to be taxed. The tax collectors grumbled bitterly, for they had lost their former right to extract their own bounty over and above the taxes, but the merchants stood to gain, as they could keep their prices the same and pay less purchase tax.
Nero also appeared in public before the crowd as a charioteer, for, according to his own statement, driving a team of horses had in the past been a sport of kings and gods. To set a good example to the aristocracy, he appeared in the great games on the Greek pattern as a dramatic singer, accompanying himself on the cittern. His voice had grown strong since his mother’s death, but for safety’s sake and to avoid demonstrations, Burrus ordered a troop of Praetorians to the theater to keep order and to applaud Nero. He himself set an example by clapping, although as a warrior he was deeply ashamed of the Emperor’s conduct. Presumably he also thought that Nero might well have taken up even more shameful pursuits.
The result was that Greek fashions finally conquered Rome. Most of the senators and the members of the Noble Order of Knights took part in Nero’s games. Noble girls performed Greek dances and even elderly matrons demonstrated the suppleness of their limbs in the circus. I personally had nothing against these amusements, for they saved me much trouble and expense, but except for the races, the people did not like them very much. In their opinion, professional singers, musicians, dancers and actors performed incomparably better than amateurs. The d
isappointment was great when no wild animals were displayed in the intervals, not to mention gladiators. The older generation among the nobility was appalled, for they considered gymnastic exercises, hot baths and effeminate music to be weakening Roman youth and their capacity to fight at a moment when Rome needed experienced tribunes.
Like an evil omen, war again broke out in Armenia, and a dreadful woman called Boadicea united the British tribes in a devastating rebellion in Britain. A whole legion was annihilated, two Roman towns were razed to the ground and the Procurator lost control to such an extent that he had to flee across to Gaul.
I think Queen Boadicea would never have won so many adherents in Britain had the legions not been forced to live off the country, and had the interest on the loans made by Seneca to the British princes ever been paid, for the barbarians still did not understand the present monetary system.
The younger knights turned out to be reluctant to volunteer to be impaled and burned by Boadicea, but preferred to play their citterns in Rome, clad in Greek tunics and wearing their hair long. Before the situation had clarified, Nero even suggested to the Senate that the legions should be withdrawn altogether from Britain, where there was nothing but trouble. The country was devouring more than it produced. If we abandoned Britain, three legions would be released to lessen the pressure from the Parthians in the East. The fourth had already been lost.
During the violent discussion in the Senate which followed, Seneca, the spokesman for peace and love of humanity, made a brilliant speech in which he referred to the god Claudius’ triumphs in Britain.
An Emperor could not refute his adoptive father’s conquests without ruining his reputation. Actually, Seneca was of course thinking of the enormous sums of money he had invested in Britain.
One of the senators asked whether it had been absolutely necessary to murder seventy thousand citizens and allies and to plunder and burn two flourishing towns to ashes just to protect Seneca’s profits. Seneca turned very red and assured the Senate that the Roman money invested in Britain went toward civilizing the country and to fostering trade and buying power. This could be confirmed by other senators who had invested their money there.
“The omens are alarming,” someone called.
But Seneca defended himself and assured them that it was not his fault if some untrustworthy British kings had used the money from loans for their own private purposes and the secret acquisition of arms. The conduct of the legions was the main reason for the war, so the commantlers should be punished and reinforcements should be sent to Britain.
To abandon Britain completely was of course much too bitter a pill for the Senate to swallow. That much of Rome’s former pride at least remains. So it was decided not to evacuate the country, but to send more troops there instead. Several incensed senators forced their grown sons to have their hair cut and take up service as tribunes in Britain. They took their citterns with them, but the ravaged towns and the cruelties and shrill war cries of the Britons soon caused them to throw them away and fight courageously.
I have special reason for dwelling on the events in Britain, although I myself did not witness them. Boadicea was the Queen of the Icenis. After her husband’s death the legions had interpreted his will so that his land became Roman hereditary property. Boadicea was a woman and cared nothing for the law. We ourselves needed learned lawyers to interpret wills correcdy. When Boadicea contested the decision and appealed to the Britons’ law of inheritance on the distaff side, she was flogged by the legionaries, her daughters were raped and her property looted. The legionaries had also turned many Iceni noblemen out of their estates and committed murder and other atrocities.
Legally, right was on their side for the King, who had not been able to read or write, had in fact had a will drawn up in which he left his land to the Emperor, thinking that in this way he was securing the position of his widow and daughters against the envy of the Iceni noblemen. The Icenis had from the beginning been allies of the Romans, although they had no special love for them.
After the arrival of the reinforcements, a decisive battle was fought and the Britons, led by this vengeful woman, were defeated. The Romans avenged Boadicea’s brutalities to Roman women, whom, because of the insult she had suffered, she had allowed her people to treat abominably. Soon a stream of British slaves began to arrive in Rome-admittedly only women and half-grown boys, for adult Britons are useless as slaves-and much to the people’s disappointment, Nero had forbidden the use of prisoners-of-war in the battles in the amphitheater.
One lovely day I was visited by a slave dealer who was dragging a ten-year-old boy by a rope. He behaved secretively, winking repeatedly at me in the hopes that I would send any witnesses out of the room. Then he lengthily complained of the bad times, his innumerable expenses and the shortage of willing buyers. The boy looked around with angry eyes.
“This young warrior,” explained the slave dealer, “tried to defend his mother with his sword when our incensed legionaries raped and killed her. Out of respect for the boy’s courage, the soldiers did not kill him but sold him to me. As you see from his straight limbs, his fine skin and green eyes, he is of noble Iceni descent. He can ride, swim and use a bow and arrow. Believe it or not, he can even write a little too and he speaks a few words of Latin. I’ve heard it said that you might like to buy him and pay me more than if I offered him for sale in the slave market.”
‘Whoever told you that?” I exclaimed in surprise. “I’ve more than enough slaves. They make my life intolerable and deprive me of my own freedom, not to mention real wealth, which is solitude.”
“A certain Petro, an Iceni physician in the service of Rome, recognized the boy in London,” said the slave dealer. “He gave me your name and assured me you would pay me the highest price for the boy. But who can trust a Briton? Show your book, boy.”
He cuffed the boy over the head. The boy rummaged in his belt and drew out the remains of a torn and dirty Chaldaean-Egyptian book of dreams. I recognized it as soon as I touched it, and my limbs and joints dissolved into water.
“Is your mother’s name Lugunda?” I asked the boy, although I knew the answer. Petro’s name alone confirmed that the boy was my own son whom I had never seen. I wanted to take him in my arms and acknowledge him as my son, although there were no witnesses available, but the boy hit me in the face with his fist and bit my cheek. The slave dealer’s face darkened with rage and he fumbled for his whip.
“Don’t hit him,” I said. “I’ll buy the boy. What’s your price?”
The slave dealer looked at me appraisingly and again spoke of his outlays and losses.
“To be rid of him,” he said finally, “I’ll sell him at the lowest price. A hundred gold pieces. The boy is still untamed.”
Ten thousand sesterces was an insane price to pay for a half-grown boy when bedworthy young women were on offer in the market for a few gold pieces. It was not just the price, for naturally I should have paid an even higher one if necessary, but I had to sit down and think hard as I looked at the boy. The slave dealer misunderstood my silence and began to speak for his goods, explaining that there were several rich men in Rome who had acquired eastern habits and for whom the boy was of a choice age. But he lowered his price, first to ninety and then to eighty gold pieces.
In fact I was only wondering how I could make the purchase without my son becoming a slave. A formal purchase would have to be made at the tabellarium, where the contract would be confirmed and the boy would have to be branded with my own symbol of ownership, MM, after which he would never again be able to gain Roman citizenship, even if he were freed.
“Perhaps I could have him trained as a charioteer,” I said at last. “The Petro you mention was in fact a friend of mine when I was serving in Britain. I trust his recommendation. Couldn’t we arrange it so that you give me a written certificate to say that Petro, as the boy’s guardian, has assigned to you the task of bringing him here for me to look after him?”
The
slave dealer gave me a sly look.
“I am the one who has to pay the purchase tax on him, not you,” he said. “I can’t really knock off any more from the price.”
I scratched my head. The matter was very involved and could easily have appeared to be an attempt to circumvent the high tax on slaves. But I might as well benefit in some way from my position as son-in-law to the City Prefect.
I put on my toga and the three of us set off for the temple of Mercury. Among the people there, I soon found a citizen who had lost his rank of knight and who, for a reasonable sum, agreed to stand as the other necessary witness to the oath. Thus a document could be drawn up and confirmed with a double oath.
According to this, the boy was a freeborn Briton whose parents, Ituna and Lugunda, had been killed in the war because of their friendship for Rome. Through the mediation of the physician Petro, they had sent their son to the security of Rome in good time, to have him brought up by their guest and friend, the knight Minutus Lausus Manilianus.
In a special clause it was stipulated that I, as his guardian, should hold a watching brief for his inheritance in the Iceni country when peace was finally declared in Britain. This strengthened my case to some extent, for the Mercury priests took it that I had something to gain from the boy at the distribution of war spoils.
‘What shall we put down as his name?” asked the notary.