Nero

by David Wishart

  Tigellinus smiled and lowered his eyelids.

  'Don't be modest, darling, of course you are!' Lucius stretched out his hand in front of him, fingers spread as if they were gripping something. His voice was soft and razor-edged. 'So I'm going to take him like this, Titus, and I'm going to ram him up their bloody Roman arses as far as he'll go. Do you understand me now, dear?'

  'Yes,' I said; I was shaking. 'I understand. Thank you.'

  'Don't mention it, Petronius.' Tigellinus said with a smile. 'In fact, don't mention it at all. To anyone.'

  'That's right.' Lucius settled back. 'It's our little secret. And now, what did you want to see me about, darling?'

  Hesitantly, I started to explain my ideas for the up-and-coming Spring Festival; but my heart wasn't in it. Somehow organising parties didn't seem quite so vital any more.

  31.

  I'd received a clear warning not to mention Lucius's plans for the Senate, but he'd said nothing about keeping the actual appointment secret; and in any case it would be common knowledge in a day or so. I went straight round to Seneca's. He was sitting at his study desk. In front of him was a book-roll, the exposed part of which was half covered with his small, neat writing.

  I needn't've bothered coming. He'd already heard the news. He also knew, of course, that Burrus was dead.

  'Some people think the poor fellow was poisoned,' he said slowly. 'It isn't true. The doctor only gave him a month or two at the turn of the year. Besides, why should Nero bother?'

  I'd never seen him look so weary. Even his cheek-pouches, purple bags of skin shot with broken veins, sagged empty and dull.

  'He never told me he was dying,' I said. 'Burrus himself, I mean.'

  'No. No, he wouldn't.' Seneca rolled the pen he was holding absently between his palms. 'But after all – and I intend no disrespect–- why should he?'

  I said nothing. It was a fair comment. I might have respected Burrus, but we'd had our differences.

  Seneca seemed to realise that he was still holding the pen. He set it down carefully on the manuscript. 'And how was our friend Tigellinus?' he asked.

  'Quietly content. Like a cat who's got the cream.' I shifted in my chair. 'Which he has. So what will you do now? Carry on as the emperor's adviser?'

  'No.' He shook his head. 'There wouldn't be any point to that. I'll resign. After a decent interval, naturally. Or ask Nero to allow me to go into retirement, rather, since my position's never been official.'

  'Is that necessary?'

  'No, not exactly. But I can't help the lad now, and I've been no more than' – he hesitated – 'no more than an inconvenience to him for some time. Besides' – he indicated the book-roll – 'I have my writing to catch up on.'

  'Philosophy? Or another play?'

  'Philosophy. What else, at my time of life? The plays were never more than a spiritual emetic. I don't think you ever quite understood that, my dear fellow. Also if I'm not too much mistaken they would be rather too...too close to reality in future for everyone's comfort. I only hope the dear boy leaves me in peace. But what about you, Petronius? What will you do?'

  I shrugged, feeling suddenly uncomfortable. 'Plan parties. Go to parties. Butter him up. What I've always done.'

  'You may find it a little more difficult in future,' he said drily. 'Now you've been replaced, as Burrus and I have been.'

  'I'll survive,' I said, getting up.

  'Oh, you will, you will.' There was no friendliness in Seneca's smile, and he got to his feet with a shade too much alacrity. 'You will certainly survive. For a year or two yet, anyway. Meanwhile come along, my dear fellow, and I'll show you out.'

  We walked through the hallway in silence, avoiding each other's eyes. At the door, he paused.

  'You remember the conversation we had some time ago?’ he said. ‘About the chariot and the runaway horse?'

  'Yes.' I'd been trying not to think of it all day, since I'd seen Tigellinus and Lucius together.

  'Well, the chariot has another driver now. Or soon will have.' As the slave opened the door he turned to face me. 'Do you feel he's better than the last? And are you still sure that the horse is heading in the right direction?'

  I didn't reply. The door closed softly behind me.

  A month or so later, Seneca left Rome for his villa in Campania, and Lucius hardly noticed he'd gone. This indifference worried me, because it didn't only extend to Seneca. Although I was spending more and more time with him than before our relationship was changing, becoming more distant, and I felt now less like a friend than a hired social organiser. Matters came to a head one day when I went to the palace and found him as usual in conference with Tigellinus. For a moment, until he saw who I was, he had frowned. Then he turned to Tigellinus with a shrug and said: 'Never mind, dear. It's only my Adviser on Taste.'

  Tigellinus sniggered.

  Lucius's Adviser on Taste. Why the phrase should've rankled so much, even more than the shrug or the snigger, I don't know. I talked it over with Silia that evening as I watched her get ready for one of Lucius's frequent and increasingly interminable parties.

  'Personally I think you're being silly, darling,' she said, fastening the pearl earrings Arruntius had given her at the Spring Festival. 'It's a tremendous compliment, really. And you do do it so well.'

  I rubbed a speck of wax from the arm of my chair.

  'Perhaps so,’ I said. ‘But I'm not some kind of major-domo earning a bonus by booking some flavour-of-the-month entertainer for his master's business dinner.'

  'Aren't you?' Silia turned her exquisitely made up eyes on me. I winced. 'Oh, I'm sorry, Titus, I didn't mean it that way. But what's wrong with helping the emperor bring a little civilised living to the city? You've always said you rather admired him for it.'

  'I do. But there's a' – I hesitated, feeling for the proper phrase –'an angry hardness about him these days that wasn't there before. Then he was working for the good of Rome. Now I don't think he particularly cares. In fact I suspect he'd be just as glad if they fought him all the way.'

  '"They"?'

  'The Senate. Or the establishment, rather. The hard-line traditionalists. He's always disliked them, and it's quite mutual. Now with dear Tigellinus whispering sweet nothings in his ear he's beginning to wonder about taking them on properly.'

  Silia had picked up the mirror to check the effect of the earrings. Now she put it down and said gravely: 'You're worried about Tigellinus, aren't you?'

  'Yes. He's an animal, completely amoral. He causes trouble just for the kick it gives him, without thinking of the consequences. And Lucius follows his lead because Tigellinus has the courage to do what he wants to do and Lucius doesn't. Oh, yes. I'm worried about Tigellinus.'

  Silia took up the mirror again and made a play of examining her eyebrows.

  'You may like to know,' she said slowly, 'that he's having an affair with Poppaea.' I sat forward in my chair. 'Oh, a very discreet one. And they may not even be sleeping together.'

  'That's nonsense! Tigellinus would never be such a fool.'

  Silia shrugged. 'Take it or leave it, dear. But my informant tells me that Lucius's darling Poppy made the first approach.'

  'Which informant?'

  'You remember Acte's maid Chryse? She's in Puteoli, of course, but her sister still works at the palace, and she passes me the occasional bit of privileged information.'

  'Gossip, you mean?'

  'If you want to call it that,' Silia said with great dignity. 'We all have our little interests, and I happen to enjoy a bit of scandal.'

  'Do you trust her?'

  'Implicitly.'

  I sat back. This was important. Lucius had his good qualities, but he was easily swayed by anyone strong-minded enough to make the effort and whom he found sympathetic. With Burrus and Seneca gone the only two real influences on him (I could hardly count myself any more) were Tigellinus and Poppaea. If they'd joined forces then we were in trouble. I was in trouble. Both were unscrupulous, and neither of them
was too taken with Titus Petronius.

  'They don't sleep together?' I said.

  'They may not be sleeping together, dear. Chryse's sister's a very conscientious informer, even if the poor girl is just the tiniest bit thick.'

  'So it could be a...political affair?'

  Silia smiled. 'My dear Titus, have you seen Poppaea recently? She's stunning, absolutely stunning! And Tigellinus may be a dreadful shit, but he's an extremely attractive one. Political it may be, but if so the deal was signed between the sheets.'

  'I bow to your superior knowledge of the world, darling.' I was thinking rapidly. Power as such – apart from the power to disrupt, which he already had – didn't interest Tigellinus. He'd bed Poppaea willingly enough if she made him the offer, but if he did it would be with no other motive than pleasure in the act itself. Poppaea was another matter. She was desperate to become empress; which meant, of course, getting rid of Lucius's virtually estranged wife Octavia. So far Lucius had refused, because Octavia was as popular as Poppaea was disliked, and a remarriage would serve no purpose. If she could persuade Tigellinus to help her, then...

  'Titus, what do you think?'

  'Mmm?'

  Silia was holding two necklaces up for my inspection. 'Oh, come on, darling! Please! We really must be going, and this is important. The pearls or the rubies?'

  'The pearls,' I said.

  Her nose wrinkled. 'Not the rubies?'

  'The pearls, darling. Quite definitely the pearls.'

  'Very well.' She replaced the ruby necklace in her jewel-case. 'I wish I hadn't mentioned that dratted girl, you'll be dreadful all evening. Now do stop moping and tell Simon to fetch the litter.'

  Both Tigellinus and Poppaea were at the party. They sat apart, and didn't seem especially interested in each other as far as I could see; but that proved nothing.

  32.

  It came as no surprise to anyone when, a short time later, Tigellinus's co-Commander of Praetorians was relieved of his post. The excuse, that he'd been friendly with Agrippina, was farcical: Lucius's mother had been dead long before the appointment was made. There was no replacement.

  Lucius was quite open about Rufus’s dismissal, to me at least: 'Why should I bother to invent anything decent, Titus?' he said. 'Nobody'd believe the doddering old fool was capable of any real wickedness. If he had been I might not have had to sack him. And anyway, darling, those bum-suckers in the Senate wouldn't dare say boo whatever reason I gave them.'

  Both observations were true enough; what was chilling was that Lucius was able to make them. His third comment – almost thrown away – was even more ominous: 'Now Tiggy can really begin to enjoy himself.'

  Tiggy did so, with two political assassinations. His first victim was Faustus Sulla, the aristocratic husband of Octavia's sister Claudia, exiled four years before. The murderers walked into Sulla's house in Marseilles, stabbed him and, in line with their instructions, brought the head back to Rome. ('Tiggy thought we'd be as well to kill him,' Lucius told me later. 'And it was a mercy, really. He was going terribly grey, poor dear.')

  The second was Rubellius Plautus. Plautus was another relative who had been exiled following the appearance of a comet. Comets, notoriously, announce the deaths of rulers, and Lucius had sensibly suggested that his distant cousin make himself even more distant by withdrawing to his Asian estates before anyone got any bright ideas. His head, too, had been brought back, pickled this time in vinegar. ('Hasn't he got a long nose, Titus?' – pulling the head from its jar by the hair and showing me it – 'Tiggy saidhe was dangerous, but I'm not so sure. Not with a nose like that. Still, best to be safe than sorry, eh?' I had thrown up all over my best mantle. Lucius only laughed.)

  What could I do? What could anyone do? After the incident of the pickle-jar I went home and wept. Yes, I was sorry for Sulla and Plautus, and I was sorry for Rome; but I was even more sorry for Lucius, because I honestly believed and still believe that to him the killings were no more than stage deaths and the heads only papier-mâché props. If anyone was to blame for them and for the others that followed it was Tigellinus, who had shown the poor lad what marvellous, innocent fun it was to kill, and our upright band of venerable senators, who not only expelled the murdered men from their ranks but voted us a day of national thanksgiving into the bargain.

  Do I sound bitter? Do you detect an unaccustomed seriousness here, my dear reader, that conflicts with Petronius's story so far? I am, and you do. I can't help myself.

  Draw a line across the page here, Dion. No, don't ask why, boy. Just do it, please.

  __________________________

  33.

  A month or so after the murders, Arruntius having to go off on one of his official tours, I'd arranged to take Silia away for a few days to Tibur, where an old friend had a villa. When I called to collect her she was sitting by the ornamental pool with her friend Junia Calvina.

  'You're not ready, are you, darling?' I said. It hadn't needed genius to make that deduction; there had been no sign in the hall of the huge quantities of luggage Silia found necessary for even a night away from home.

  'Titus!' She looked up and put a hand to her mouth. 'Oh, goodness, is that the time? I'm sorry, dear, but Junia came round with the news and we got chatting. I am all packed, though, really. It's just that the slaves haven't carried the stuff through.'

  'What news?'

  'About the divorce, of course.' Junia's plump face was grave.

  'Whose divorce?' I pulled a chair across. Whatever Silia said, I knew we wouldn't be leaving for some time.

  'The emperor's. He's divorcing Octavia.'

  I sat down heavily. 'No!'

  Junia nodded. 'The announcement's being made this morning.'

  'Why? What possible reason can he give?'

  'The official reason's barrenness, but of course that's a nonsense. Nero's never...' She blushed and started again. 'Octavia's still...' The blush spread until the poor girl looked like a beetroot. 'I mean, well, it's wrong, Titus. Totally impossible. I know.'

  I remembered what Acte had said years ago about the marriage never having been consummated; and also that Junia Calvina was one of Octavia's very few close friends.

  'You two talk while I get ready,' Silia said. 'I won't be long, dear.'

  I watched her hurry off upstairs, frowning. Nothing to do with her lateness, I'd planned for that and we weren't meeting the carriage until noon. It was much more serious. I'd talked with Lucius several times over the past few days and he hadn't so much as hinted about a divorce.

  'Octavia's horribly upset,' Junia was saying. 'She's dreaded this for years, and she's been so terribly careful you wouldn't believe!'

  'You've seen her?'

  'I was round early this morning. It's all Poppaea's doing, of course. Her and that beast Tigellinus. You know they've been...getting together recently?'

  'So I've heard.'

  'Do you think the emperor knows?'

  I'd wondered about that one myself. Not that Lucius would necessarily care, even if it were true.

  'I doubt it.'

  'But it's so unfair!' Junia's face twisted with anger. 'Poppaea really is such a bitch, Titus! Goodness knows what Nero sees in her!'

  'He sees his mother, darling,' I said.

  She gave me a startled look: Junia always had been naïve, very much like Octavia herself, which was why they were so close.

  'Do you think so?’ she said. ‘The empress? But that's dreadful!'

  'Lucius has never really loved anyone else, dear. If there's one thing the poor darling can't understand or abide it's innocence.'

  'So he'll persecute Octavia for nothing while he'll let Poppaea get away with murder! What kind of...' She stopped, her eyes wide. 'Oh, Titus!'

  I had a cold feeling in my own stomach. 'Octavia's quite safe, believe me. She's one of the imperial family, and she's far too popular for Lucius to risk harming.'

  'You're sure?'

  'Of course I am. Now sit down like a good girl.'
She did, and began chewing her fingernails. 'Besides, Lucius isn't...' It was my turn to stop; I'd been about to say, Lucius isn't a killer. 'Lucius isn't interested in anything but marriage with Poppaea.'

  'That's bad enough!'

  'Oh, I agree. Only...'There was a movement on the stairs. Silia reappeared carrying a light travelling cloak.

  'Titus, I've had a lovely idea,' she said. 'Why doesn't Junia come with us?'

  'I don't see why not.' It would certainly take the girl out of herself. 'Marsus won't mind, I'm sure.' Marsus was the friend with the villa.

  'Junia, dear? You haven't any other commitments, have you?'

  'No. Only Octavia might –'

  'Darling, you are not staying behind just to mope!' I stood up and helped Silia on with the cloak.

  'I quite agree, Titus,' Silia said. 'Octavia will be fine, dear. Besides, Tibur's beautiful at this time of year, and from what Titus has told me his friend is an absolute pussy-cat.'

  I certainly hadn't said anything of the sort. Marsus was my ex-banker, a dry old stick of seventy, ugly as sin, and possessed of all the conversational skills of a block of marble. A pussy-cat he was anything but. However, I wasn't going to contradict Silia in such a good cause. Junia would find out for herself.

  'All right.' A smile lit her broad face for the first time. 'If you're certain he won't throw me out. Just let me nip back home and put my little bag together.'

  Ah, me. One learns by experience. I sent a slave off to cancel the original arrangement and order the biggest coach he could get, for mid-afternoon.

  34.

  Lucius had the good sense to keep his remarriage low-key. Silia and I were invited to the private ceremony, of course. So was Junia, but she didn't go.

  Lucius and Poppaea greeted the guests in the formal hallway before the reception room itself where the ceremony would take place. The bridegroom was more gorgeously dressed – and wore more make-up – than the bride.

  I'd thought long and hard about a wedding present; what, after all, can you give the man who literally has everything? Finally the problem had solved itself when I was offered an interesting piece of historical erotica, an Egyptian papyrus dating back to before the first Ptolemy and detailing no fewer than ninety-seven coital positions for couples and trios of the same and mixed sexes. Lucius was delighted.