The Roman Mysteries Complete Collection

by Lawrence, Caroline

‘Tasteless, too,’ drawled Vopiscus, ‘though they say Agrippina was still very beautiful, even at the age of forty.’

  ‘What happened, pater?’ asked Pulchra, her blue eyes wide and innocent.

  ‘The plan went wrong,’ said Felix. ‘The awning of Nero’s special yacht was not made of wood like this one’ – here he gestured at the brightly painted roof above them. ‘It was made of lead, designed to collapse when a certain lever was pulled and to crush anyone reclining underneath.’

  ‘Oh! How awful!’ cried Pulchra.

  ‘Did it work?’ asked Jonathan.

  ‘No!’ cried Tranquillus, leaping to his feet. ‘One of the sailors pulled the lever and the roof did fall down but it only killed one of Agrippina’s friends. Agrippina and her other companion – I forget the woman’s name – fell into the water unharmed.’

  Lupus mimed swimming and gave a questioning grunt.

  ‘Yes, Lupus, they could swim,’ said Felix, ‘and the sailors heard a woman’s voice in the dark water crying out, “Save me! I’m the mother of your emperor!” They took their oars, stretched them out . . . and beat her to death. Most of them were in on the plot, too, you see.’

  ‘Oh!’ gasped Pulchra, and Lupus saw her clutch Flaccus’s muscular arm.

  ‘But it wasn’t Agrippina they killed,’ continued Felix. ‘It was Acerronia, Agrippina’s companion. She realised what was happening and bravely claimed to be Nero’s mother, in order to save her.’

  ‘That’s right!’ said Tranquillus, his voice squeaking with excitement. ‘Meanwhile, Agrippina swam to shore and some fishermen pulled her out of the water and took her to her villa.’

  ‘So Agrippina didn’t die after all?’ asked Jonathan.

  ‘On the contrary,’ said Felix. ‘When Nero’s men told him about the botched assassination, he ordered them to go back and do it properly.’

  Tranquillus nodded; he was still standing up and swaying a little with the movement of the boat. ‘Just before dawn the men burst into Agrippina’s bedroom. When she saw their resolute faces and the glinting knives, she tore open her tunic and—’

  ‘Tranquillus!’ said Felix sternly. ‘There are women present, including my daughter. They don’t need to know all the sordid details.’ He looked around at them. ‘Let’s just say that Nero’s men did what they had been commanded to do.’

  Tranquillus sat down beside Felix again, apparently not offended by the Patron’s rebuke, for he added, ‘My father says that was when Nero started to go bad. The Kindly Ones caught him, you see. They caught Nero and they drove him mad.’

  ‘Matricide,’ breathed Flavia. ‘The crime of Orestes.’

  ‘The worst crime a human can commit,’ said Polla Argentaria, leaning back on her couch in the upper colonnade of the Villa Limona. ‘Nero was probably the most depraved man who ever walked this earth. After he murdered his mother he got worse and worse. I couldn’t begin to tell you the horrible things he did. Finally, six years after Agrippina’s murder, my husband and his friends decided to rid the empire of that monster.’

  ‘He did?’ breathed Flavia. ‘I mean, they did? They planned to kill the Emperor?’

  ‘Yes,’ murmured Polla. ‘For the good of Rome.’

  ‘What happened? Did they succeed?’

  ‘No,’ said Polla. ‘They were betrayed and their plot exposed. And that was when Nero commanded my husband to commit suicide.’

  ‘Felix?’ gasped Flavia. ‘Nero commanded Felix to kill himself?’

  Polla had been resting with her eyes closed. Now she opened them and looked at Flavia. ‘No. Not Felix,’ she said softly, ‘not him. Nero ordered the death of my first husband.’

  ‘Your what?’ said Flavia, and then, as understanding dawned, ‘You’ve been married before?’

  ‘Why, yes,’ said Polla. ‘Didn’t you know? Has Pulchra never told you? My first husband was the greatest Latin poet to live since Virgil. He might have been greater than Virgil if his life had not ended at the age of twenty-five.’

  ‘What was his name?’ asked Flavia.

  ‘Lucan,’ said Polla. ‘Marcus Annaeus Lucanus.’

  ‘I’ve heard of him!’ cried Flavia. ‘I think pater has a long poem by him.’

  ‘Probably his unfinished epic on the civil war. He was a genius. It was such a crime that his talent was snuffed out by that monster Nero.’

  ‘Tell me what happened! Please.’

  Polla sighed and took a sip from her gemmed cup. ‘Both Lucan and his uncle Seneca were involved in the plot to assassinate Nero,’ she said. ‘Seneca had been Nero’s tutor and was a great philosopher as well. A man called Piso was the leader. He and some other noblemen realised that Nero was insane and could destroy Rome. So they plotted to kill him. But they hesitated. They failed to seize the right moment and eventually they were all betrayed. Nero had them arrested and offered them a choice. They could suffer public execution, along with the loss of their homes and goods. Or they could go home, put their affairs in order and open their veins.’

  ‘What does that mean: open their veins?’ asked Flavia. ‘I’ve heard that expression before but never understood it.’

  ‘It means they had to cut their wrists and the back of their knees and let the life blood drain away from their bodies. A slow but noble way to die,’ she murmured.

  Flavia stared.

  Polla leaned toward Flavia. ‘When Seneca opened his veins his wife did, too. Later, Nero commanded his physicians to save her, and they bound up her wounds. But do you see? She was willing to die with her husband. I would have done the same for Lucan,’ said Polla, leaning back again, ‘but I wasn’t with him when the death sentence from Nero came. They say my husband took the news calmly, sent for his physician and died reciting his own poetry.’ She looked at Flavia. ‘I was a poet, too, you know, and a patroness of poets. But since that day I have hardly written a single line.’

  ‘You must have loved your first husband very much,’ said Flavia, ‘to be willing to die with him.’

  ‘Did I love Lucan? No.’ Polla smiled sadly. ‘It was an arranged marriage. I married him when I was fourteen, the same year Nero murdered Agrippina. Although Lucan was six years my senior, I always felt more like his mother than his wife. Still, he was clever and witty, and he made me laugh. No, I didn’t love him, Flavia, but I liked him, and we were happy together.’ She took a small sip. ‘Whereas, although Felix and I are the same age, he has always been the strong one. Always masterful. Always in control.’

  ‘Felix is the same age as you?’ said Flavia.

  ‘A little younger, in fact,’ said Polla. ‘By a month or two.’

  ‘How did you meet him?’ asked Flavia.

  ‘Felix?’ asked Polla.

  Flavia nodded. He mouth was dry so she took a long drink of posca from her plain silver cup.

  Polla Argentaria turned and gazed out through the columns towards the bright bay. ‘I first met Felix when he came to Rome to attend Lucan’s funeral. He was a distant cousin of mine, twenty years old, just back from two years in Athens where he’d been studying philosophy and rhetoric at the Academy. He walked into my garden and the moment I saw him, Cupid fired an arrow deep into my heart. Right up to the feathers,’ she added.

  Flavia felt a strange pang in her own heart. She could easily imagine Felix at the age of twenty, tanned and handsome, but already with his striking silver-grey hair. ‘Aeneas stepped forward,’ quoted Flavia, ‘brilliant in the clear light, with the face and shoulders of a god.’

  ‘Exactly,’ breathed Polla, turning astonished blue eyes on Flavia. ‘Exactly so. I was like Dido, the first time she sees Aeneas.’ She lowered her gaze. ‘I have loved him passionately from that moment until today. And that,’ she said softly, ‘that is the great tragedy of my life.’

  As Felix’s yacht entered the port of Baiae, Lupus stood at the front of the shaded deckhouse to get the best view. They were now so close that he had to tip his head back to see the bronze statues on a dozen lofty columns. Some were even
taller than the palm trees that lined the harbour.

  ‘So, Tranquillus,’ said Felix, as the ship slowed its speed and described a pulsing curve towards a vacant berth. ‘Pulchra has just told me that you want to interview Locusta, the imperial poisoner.’

  ‘Yes, Patron,’ said Tranquillus. ‘For research purposes.’

  ‘That may be difficult. She was put to death ten years ago by the Emperor Galba.’

  Pulchra gasped and turned to glare accusingly at Tranquillus.

  ‘But my father said . . . I was sure that Locusta lived in Baiae.’

  ‘She does,’ said Felix. ‘But it’s not the Locusta you’re thinking of,’ he added. ‘This one’s her daughter. Why did you want to talk to her, anyway?’

  ‘I hope to be a biographer some day and Nero is my particular subject of interest. Also poison,’ he added, with a glance at Pulchra.

  ‘Ah.’ Felix gave a small nod of understanding. ‘Then you’re in luck. Locusta’s daughter might well be able to tell you something about Nero, though I can’t promise. And they say she knows as much about poison as her mother did. Do you still want to see her?’ The boat shuddered as it nudged the pier.

  ‘Yes, please, sir.’

  ‘Very well. It’s short notice, but I should be able to arrange it. She owes me a favour or two. However, we can’t all descend on her like crows on a freshly-ploughed field. I’ll take a group to the baths and we’ll met you and your party later at the oyster-beds of the Lucrine Lake, at the fourth hour past noon. Who’s going with young Tranquillus, then?’

  ‘Oh, pater!’ cried Pulchra, who had been smoothing her pink silk tunic. ‘Aren’t you coming with us?’

  ‘We can’t all go, my little nightingale. There are twelve of us, plus the panther. Don’t worry,’ he said, seeing the expression of disappointment on her face. ‘You can take Brassus as your bodyguard.’

  Pulchra turned away from her father with a pout.

  ‘I’ll go with Pulchra,’ said Jonathan.

  ‘I also,’ said Nubia.

  ‘When you say the baths,’ Claudia was examining her fingernail, ‘do you mean the Baths of Nero?’

  ‘I do,’ said Felix.

  ‘Then I’ll go with the children.’

  ‘Oooh!’ said Voluptua, standing up and stretching luxuriously. ‘The famous Baths of Nero. I think I’ll go with you, Patron.’

  ‘Us, too,’ Vopiscus gave Flaccus and Philodemus a slow wink. ‘Especially if we’re going to those baths.’

  ‘What about you, Lupus?’ said Felix with a half-smile. ‘Are you for Locusta or the baths?’

  Lupus glanced at Jonathan. He had promised Flavia a portrait of Locusta, but someone needed to stay with Felix and the others, to keep an eye out for suspicious behaviour. Jonathan gave him a tiny nod, as if to say: You go.

  Lupus smiled, pointed at himself and then to Felix.

  ‘As you wish,’ said Felix. He turned to Tranquillus. ‘Do you see that apricot-coloured building up on the hill? The one with the white-columned porch? Near the gilded dome of that bath-house?’

  Lupus and the others turned to follow Felix’s pointing finger.

  ‘Yes,’ said Tranquillus.

  ‘That’s Locusta’s villa. Now look further to the right.’ They all turned dutifully. ‘Do you see those yellow and red banners fluttering in the breeze towards Puteoli, the other harbour?’

  ‘Yes,’ they said.

  ‘Those ring the Lucrine Lake, with its famous oyster-beds. We’ll meet you there at the fourth hour after noon. If you don’t feel up to the walk, hire a couple of litters. Brassus has money. The entrance to the oyster-beds is clearly marked. And now,’ he said, ‘I’ll dictate a quick note of introduction for you, Tranquillus, to make sure Locusta receives you and tells you everything you want to know.’

  ‘Why is it a tragedy,’ said Flavia to Polla Argentaria, ‘that you love Felix?’

  Polla was still gazing through the fluted columns towards the sea. It was almost noon, and a million spangles of golden sunlight danced on the blue-grey surface of the water.

  ‘Felix is like a god,’ she whispered, almost to herself. ‘When he takes you in his arms, you forget that anything else exists. It is just you and him, alone in a universe of pleasure. It is like dying. It is like being born.’

  ‘And that’s bad?’ Flavia’s heart was thudding.

  Polla turned and looked at Flavia. ‘You’ve just turned eleven, haven’t you?’

  Flavia nodded.

  ‘As old as Pulchra. Next year you two girls will be of marriageable age, though I hope you don’t marry until you are at least sixteen.’

  Flavia gasped. ‘But that’s so old.’

  ‘No,’ said Polla with a sad smile. ‘It’s very young. I thought I was old enough at fourteen but . . . I wish I’d waited. I wish I had savoured every drop of my childhood. One day you’ll understand. But what I’ve told Pulchra many times before – and what I want to tell you now – is this: When you do decide to marry, don’t choose the dangerous man, choose the safe one.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ asked Flavia.

  ‘Many women are attracted to a man of power, mystery, excitement, even violence. I call this sort of man the dangerous man. He brings the woman something very powerful: passion. But he is a trap, a snare. He will catch you like a sparrow in bird-lime and drag you down. Down into misery.’ She turned to look at Flavia and in the reflected light from the sea her fine skin was almost translucent. ‘Do you understand?’

  ‘I should marry a safe man,’ said Flavia.

  ‘Yes,’ whispered Polla. ‘A man of virtue – what the Greeks call arete. Marry a man who is kind, wise, gentle and just. A man with whom you have things in common. A man who shares your philosophy. A man you can laugh with. A man you can respect. With such a man you can raise fine children in love and security.’

  ‘But what about passion?’ said Flavia in a small voice. ‘What if you want passion?’

  ‘Then you will end up like Dido,’ said Polla, ‘because passion and pain invariably go hand in hand.’

  Nubia felt a surge of bittersweet emotion as she gazed around the port of Baiae. In many ways it reminded her of her desert home: the vast blue sky, the tall green palm trees and the shimmering light.

  But there was no water in the desert. And the people of her clan did not behave like the people here. She saw the boys staring to the right and she followed their gaze. Further along the coast she could see men and women bathing together on a golden beach. Their wet tunics clung to their bodies so that they might as well have been naked. Some of them were even lying together on towels and carpets. Nubia felt her face grow hot and she quickly turned back to the port.

  Here she saw women wearing silken tunics in jewel-like colours and carrying matching parasols against the blazing sun. They wore gauzy scarves instead of modest woollen pallas, and many of them had cork-soled platform-shoes, like the ones Flavia and Pulchra had worn on Flavia’s birthday. Almost all the women in Baiae had complicated hairstyles, with masses of tight curls piled like diadems above their foreheads, and the remaining hair pulled tightly back.

  The women of Baiae reminded Nubia of the women she had seen in the port of Pompeii, shortly before its destruction. Here in Baiae, as at Pompeii, the men seemed to be either young and handsome or old and rich; the latter proclaimed their wealth by the amount of jewellery they wore. Gilded sandals, heavy rings and gold-plated wrist-guards seemed to be particularly in fashion. Many of the men, both young and old, had fierce-looking dogs with spiked collars and leather leads.

  But when Voluptua followed her black panther down the boarding plank, all heads in the port turned to admire her.

  ‘We’ll walk with you as far as Aphrodite Street,’ said Felix to Tranquillus, ‘then our ways part. Come, my little nightingale,’ he said to Pulchra, ‘take my arm.’

  The massive bodyguard Lucius Brassus led the way, followed by Flaccus, Vopiscus and Philodemus, wearing their togas and walking in front of
Felix as befitted clients with their patron. Then came Felix and Pulchra, with Nubia and the others taking up the rear. As they passed through the crowded square Nubia heard people whisper, ‘Pollius Felix!’ and ‘The Patron!’ and ‘It’s him!’

  ‘Look at the cat!’ said a dark-haired young woman in pink silk. And her blonde friend in aquamarine breathed, ‘Is that his latest? Lucky creature.’

  As they left the square and started down a street of expensive shops, one young woman in particular caught Nubia’s eye. She stood with her slave-girl on the other side of the street, in front of a perfume shop. Her hair was a lovely bronze colour, streaked with natural gold highlights. Nubia could tell that her curls were natural, too. The woman’s skin was flawless and Nubia guessed she was not much older than Jonathan’s sister Miriam. She was looking over her shoulder, staring openly at them, not hiding her interest behind a silken fan like the others. Her large brown eyes were alive with pleasure.

  Nubia followed the direction of the young woman’s gaze and saw that she was looking not at exotic Voluptua and her panther, nor at any of the younger men, but at Felix, who had linked arms with Pulchra and was talking over her head to sleepy-eyed Vopiscus.

  The young woman stepped smiling off the pavement in order to cross the street.

  Without breaking his stride or his conversation, Felix glanced at the approaching woman and gave a tiny, almost imperceptible shake of his head. Then he looked back at Vopiscus. For a moment Nubia wondered if she had imagined it. But the young woman stopped so abruptly that her slave-girl bumped into her, and Nubia saw an anguished expression on her lovely face as they passed her by.

  ‘Who is that woman?’ Nubia whispered to Claudia, who was walking beside her.

  Claudia glanced over her shoulder, then shrugged, ‘Another one of his conquests, I suppose,’ she said, and added bitterly, ‘poor thing.’

  Before they turned the corner Nubia glanced back. The young woman and her slave-girl were still standing in the middle of the street, gazing after them.

  Locusta’s apricot-coloured villa had looked impressive from the harbour, but up close Jonathan could see the plaster was cracked and the paint was peeling. Broken marble stairs the colour of old teeth led up to a small porch and wooden double doors. Furry vines curled round the two columns which flanked the porch and a pile of dead brown leaves lay in one corner.