Nero

by David Wishart

  'We'll give it to Chaeremon to translate, Titus,' he said.

  'Do you think he's up to it?' I didn't mean academically: Chaeremon was another of Lucius's ex-tutors, a former professor at the University of Alexandria and an expert in Old Egyptian esoteric lore. He was in his eighties, and paralysed down one side.

  'But that's the whole point, dear!' He giggled. 'The shock'll finish the old satyr.'

  I gave Poppaea a piece of jewellery from the same source: an ornamental headdress made up of hundreds of thin gold plates. It had come, my agent told me, from the tomb of a queen who'd ruled before the Greeks took Troy. I thought she'd like it, but she didn't. In fact she was unwilling to touch it.

  'Oh, don't be silly, Poppy! It's lovely!' Lucius kissed her on the cheek, then turned to me. 'She's terribly superstitious, didn't you know? She thinks the thing might have a curse on it. Don't you, petal?'

  'It came from a grave. An Egyptian grave.' Poppaea was scowling at me. 'The Egyptians know about curses.'

  'I shouldn't worry, my dear,' I said lightly. 'The man I bought it from is seventy-five, has four mistresses and owns the biggest house in Alexandria next to the palace. If there ever was a curse it's worn off long since.'

  'Curses don't wear off. Ever.' She motioned to a slave-girl, who took the thing away and put it with the growing pile of other presents. 'Thank you for the thought, Petronius. It was very much...in character.'

  I inclined my head and joined Silia who was already in the reception room.

  'Well, that went down like a fart at a funeral,' I said.

  'What did, dear?' She handed me a cup of wine.

  'Poppaea's present. She hated it.'

  Silia sniffed. 'It serves you right for trying to ingratiate yourself. You know she doesn't like you. You ought to have given her a nice necklace and saved yourself the trouble.'

  'What trouble's that, Petronius?' It was Tigellinus. He was standing with his back to us talking to Marius Celsus the consul. I noticed that Celsus moved away pretty sharply as soon as Tiggy transferred his attention elsewhere and joined a tight knot of whispering purple-stripers in the corner.

  'Oh, nothing serious,' I said blandly.

  'Good.' He glanced briefly over his shoulder at the group in the corner and smiled, drawing his lips back from perfect white teeth. 'Silia, lover! You're looking good enough to eat, as usual.'

  'Thank you, Tigellinus.' Silia was cool. 'I didn't know you included cannibalism among your other accomplishments.'

  'Ouch.' Tigellinus winced and smiled. 'Straight in the balls. That's what I admire about you upper-class bitches. You've got the put-down to a fine art.'

  'It does take practice, naturally,' Silia said. 'And a certain amount of style.'

  'You see what I mean, Titus?' Tigellinus grinned at me. He was quite unperturbed. 'So Poppy didn't like your little present? What a shame. I could've told you if you'd asked me. The poor girl's even careful which sandal she puts on first when she gets out of bed in the mornings.' He mimed consternation. 'Oh, my, what have I said? And on this day of all days!'

  'Perhaps the headdress was a bad choice.' I was more careful about antagonising the emperor's closest confidant than, obviously, Silia was. 'I knew the empress was superstitious, but not to that degree. The thing hasn't seen the inside of a tomb for a hundred years.'

  'Oh, that wouldn't matter to Poppy. She's a sucker for the mysteries of the east. Not like Octavia. Now she is a strictly practical little madam.'

  'Really?' Silia said frostily.

  Tigellinus had raised his voice on Poppaea's predecessor's name; quite intentionally, because he looked round and smiled into the sudden hush. A heartbeat later the interrupted conversations around us resumed at a lower pitch, as if everyone were listening.

  'Really,' he said.

  'I wouldn't know anything about that.' I raised my own voice: it wouldn't do for Tigellinus to think I was frightened of the name. 'I've never met Octavia.'

  He laughed. 'That makes sense. She wouldn't let you get within twenty yards. Me neither. Although' – he became ponderously confidential, and his arm went round Silia's shoulders – 'I could tell you some stories about that little ice-maiden you wouldn't believe!'

  'I'm sure you could,' Silia said in her normal voice, removing the arm.

  Tigellinus ignored her. His mouth was a bare inch from my ear. Behind him I could see at least four people watching us out of the corners of their eyes and not saying much themselves.

  'The rumour is, all this virtuous Roman matron stuff's shit,' he murmured. 'Our sweet little Octavia's been dropping her pants in secret for months.'

  'Really?' I raised my wine-cup so he couldn't see my expression. 'You're quite right, of course.'

  He looked puzzled. 'What d'you mean, I'm quite right?'

  'About my not believing your stories, my dear.'

  Silia smiled. Tigellinus scowled.

  'It's a fact,' he said. 'And guess who the lucky man is?'

  'You, darling?'

  I knew that baiting the oily-skinned bastard was stupid, but I couldn't help myself. He was trying to control his temper and not doing too well.

  'I told you, Petronius, she's got no taste. She wouldn't let me near her honey-pot in a million years. This is the most unlikely candidate you could ever think of.'

  'Amaze me.'

  He grinned and glanced over his shoulder. The people around us – I could see at least a dozen whose names were prominent in politics and society – had given up the pretence and were frankly eavesdropping. 'No. No, I've said enough. You'll find out in time. And if you should want to try your luck, then you go ahead. Now the thaw's on and the pipe's cracked she may appreciate another plumber.'

  Silia's knuckles were white around her wine cup, and I suspect she was within a hair's-breadth of throwing the contents into Tigellinus's face; but just then, luckily, old Aelius Tubero the high priest of Jupiter arrived and the marriage ceremony began.

  Silia and I went home right after we'd thrown the nuts and the happy couple had gone off to enjoy their first night of properly-wedded bliss. In the safety of our litter we talked about what Tigellinus had said. Silia was upset: she knew Octavia through Junia Calvina, and although they weren't exactly friends they had a certain amount of respect for each other.

  'I don't like it, Titus,' she said. 'I don't like it at all. That worm's up to something.'

  'Do you mean Tigellinus or the emperor?'

  'Does it matter? They're both the same anyway, nowadays.'

  'You can add Poppaea, dear. She's pulling the strings. The whole thing's a total fabrication, obviously.'

  'Obviously.' Silia sighed. 'Titus, that poor woman! They can't do this to her.'

  'They can. They will.'

  'But it's so unfair! She's never so much as looked at another man! Isn't divorce enough?'

  'Not for Poppaea. She wants Octavia exiled or dead.' I stared out of the litter's uncovered window. The Palatine wasn't by any means the busiest part of Rome, but there were a few people – mostly party-goers – in the late-evening street. 'It may not work, even so. It isn't plausible enough, and Octavia's much too popular just to be got rid of. Especially by the likes of Poppaea.'

  'Do you think that'll stop them? Really?'

  I didn't answer, which was an answer in itself. Probably it wouldn't. Lucius might worry about his own popularity, but most Romans – high or low – were realists. Also with Poppaea and Tigellinus in league against him poor Lucius didn't stand a chance.

  'Who's the man, do you think?' Silia said after a while.

  Suddenly I felt tired, bone-tired.

  'Jupiter knows. Who's unpopular currently? With Tigellinus and the emperor, I mean?'

  'Most of the Senate, darling.'

  'Even Tigellinus and Poppaea can't accuse Octavia of sleeping with most of the Senate. And Tigellinus mentioned one man.'

  'Thrasea?' It was a good suggestion, and worrying enough. Thrasea Paetus had been a thorn in Lucius's side for years
, largely because he gave the lie to the belief that all senators are hypocrites. Thrasea was his own man, and an honourable one at that; which was another thing about him Lucius disliked. Pretended goodness he understood and despised; the real article made him nervous. And when Lucius was nervous he was at his most dangerous.

  'Possibly,' I said.

  'I'm only glad Junia's brother and nephew are safe. They'd be prime candidates, and the shock would kill the poor girl.'

  I nodded. Silia was right, I could see how Tigellinus could persuade Lucius to get rid of these two. Silanus and Torquatus, like Junia herself, had imperial blood in their veins, and they were the last of the family. However, Silanus was in Asia at present and Torquatus was only fourteen. Not even Lucius could cite them as the guilty parties, if he had any concern at all for credibility.

  In fact it was none of these people. Tigellinus hadn't been joking; the man eventually accused of seducing Octavia was one of the most unlikely in Rome.

  35.

  A few days later, however, having evidently reconsidered the wisdom of implicating a public figure, Lucius and his new advisers had Octavia accused of adultery with one of her own slaves. Even so, they had underestimated the Roman mob, who unlike our pusillanimous Senate had no hesitation at all in expressing their disapproval, and gleefully treated us to six days of street riots. Poppaea was terrified; not so much of the mob itself but that Lucius, being the complete coward he was, might give in and dismiss the charge.

  There were problems, too, with proof. Even under torture most of Octavia's slaves refused to give the necessary evidence. In the end, Lucius suddenly announced that the real adulterer had confessed. The guilty party, he revealed to a bemused Senate and people, was Anicetus.

  I was one of the few people who wasn't surprised. The notorious seducer had told me so himself when I'd bumped into him coming out of the palace the day before.

  I hadn't seen Anicetus since Agrippina's murder. With his two-day stubble and general appearance (and odour) of having slept in his clothes for a month he looked even more ineffectual than ever.

  'Petronius!' He grabbed my arm. 'Oh, thank the gods for a friendly face! You've got to believe me! I never touched her!'

  The guards on the gate were sniggering, and I caught the tail-end of a ribald comment.

  'No, darling,' I said. 'Of course you didn't. Now who exactly are we talking about?'

  He was hopping from one foot to the other as if he had a full bladder and was ten miles from a latrine.

  'Octavia, of course! Nero –'

  I'd heard enough. I put my hand over his mouth and frog-marched the little Greek out of the gates past the now-rigid guards. Even soldiers – not the brightest intellects in the empire – know when to play deaf.

  We found a quiet bit of wall and I let him go.

  'Now, Anicetus,' I said. 'What's all this about?'

  'I had to promise, you see.' He was shivering. 'Otherwise he'd've had me executed anyway. And Sardinia isn't so bad.'

  'That's a matter of opinion, darling. Now control yourself and start from the beginning.'

  He took a deep breath and let it out, filling the air round us with the sharp smell of wine and anchovies.

  'You know I'm still Commander of the Fleet at Misenum?' he said.

  'Of course.' Lord Serapis knew why; the poor radish couldn't've commanded a rowing boat.

  'Well, a message came three days ago ordering me to Rome. I was surprised because I've hardly seen the emperor for years, not since...not since...' He bit his lip.

  'Not since you killed his mother. Yes, I know.'

  'It wasn't my fault! I didn't have any choice! You were there, you heard –'

  I sighed. 'Anicetus, will you please get a grip on yourself, dear, and tell me what happened.'

  'I'm sorry. I'm just...' He took another deep breath. 'I came straight here. Nero was quite friendly, really, he gave me a cup of wine and we chatted about this and that. Old times, you know? Then suddenly Poppaea said –'

  'Poppaea was there?'

  He looked at me as if I were the one who was being stupid. 'Oh, yes, of course. And Tigellinus. He's a dreadful man, Petronius, simply dreadful!'

  'I know, dear. Go on. So Poppy said...?'

  'She said, "Oh, get on with it!" and Nero said, "I hear you've been making love to my ex-wife." Only he didn't say "making love" he said –'

  'Anicetus, please!' I was trying to keep my fingers from his throat.

  'I'm sorry.' He swallowed. 'I'm sorry. It's just I can't...Anyway, I just gaped at him, naturally, because I'd never even met Octavia. Tigellinus laughed, the way he does, and said, "I'd admit it if I were you, sunshine. It'll save a lot of trouble in the long run."'

  'Yes, it probably would.' Two senators passed, walking in the direction of the gate. They looked away when they saw us, and increased their speed. 'So the emperor made a deal with you.'

  'Hardly a deal. He gave me a straight choice. Either I admit that Octavia seduced me to get at the fleet or he'd tell the Senate that we were both plotting treason and have me executed. Petronius, what could I do?'

  'Nothing.' I looked at him. As an adulterer the poor dear was already a joke; to charge him with treason would've been utterly farcical. Lucius must be desperate. 'And he promised you a comfortable exile in exchange? In, the gods help us, Sardinia?'

  'Sardinia's a nice place. In summer, anyway. And at least it's quiet, so I can get on with my writing.'

  'What about Octavia?'

  He shrugged; I could have hit him. 'She's being exiled as well.'

  'Where to?'

  'Pandateria.'

  'Serapis!' Pandateria is a tiny island off the Campanian coast, a favourite dumping-ground for unwanted members of the imperial family. The trip is usually one-way. 'He said that? Lucius?'

  'No, Poppaea. The emperor looked surprised, but he didn't correct her.'

  'So you go trotting off to retirement in Sardinia as the innocent party while Octavia's accused of treason and gets Pandateria.' I realised I was gripping the man's mantle hard at the neck. I relaxed my fingers. 'It sounds like a fair deal to me, darling.'

  'Petronius, I'm not to blame!' Anicetus's voice was shrill. 'She'd've been sent there anyway, whether I agreed or not! It's not my fault Nero wants rid of her!'

  I suddenly felt tired. I hadn't thought that Lucius was capable of a protracted cruelty like Pandateria even in one of his mad moods; and certainly not when he was rational. But then the emperor was no longer the man I knew.

  'No,' I said. 'No, dear, it isn't your fault. But I mustn't keep you. I suppose you'll be going back now to Misenum to pack.'

  'I only wanted someone to know that I was innocent.' For the first time Anicetus looked more indignant than frightened: a puffed-up little figure with inky fingers and a weak chin. 'They'll say I did it, but I didn't. You can tell everyone that for me, Petronius. Explain that I really never touched her.'

  'Well, at least you can rest easy on that score, darling,' I said. 'No one would believe anything else.'

  Then I left him for my overdue meeting with the emperor.

  I didn't see Anicetus again. He spent a comfortable two years in Sardinia enjoying the delicacies that Lucius supplied him with and writing monographs on the lesser-known Greek lyricists, before dying peacefully(and perhaps conveniently) in his sleep. Octavia wasn't so lucky. Only a few days after her transfer to Pandateria she was followed by a picked group of Tigellinus's Praetorians. They bound her and slit her wrists; then, because terror made the blood flow too slowly, they carried her into the steam-room of the island's tiny baths where the heat and humidity were increased until she suffocated. Her head was brought back for Poppaea to see. She was not quite, I think, twenty years old.

  I don't know whether Lucius knew these details or not. If he did, he never mentioned them.

  36.

  Poor Octavia's exile and murder found its way through even the Senate's thick skin. Not that they actually got off their well-padded b
acksides to register a protest, naturally, but there was more than a little whiff of revolution in the air that autumn. I even caught a few rumbles of discontent from Arruntius when I invited him and Silia round one evening to split a boiled ostrich.

  We'd almost finished the meal. Arruntius, who'd made severe inroads into my best Setinian, was more than a little drunk and eyeing up the young Numidian boy I'd bought a few days before to train as a wine waiter.

  'So you're not so struck on your pal the emperor these days, then, Petronius,' he said suddenly.

  'Pardon?' We'd been talking about the price of bay-side properties near Baiae: Arruntius was thinking of investing some of the bribes he'd squirrelled away from his Highways and Aqueducts post in the purchase of a small villa. This was a complete non-sequitur.

  'I said' – he reached over and absent-mindedly stroked the Numidian lad's bottom as he poured – 'you're less enamoured of our artistic overlord than you have been in the past. Or so rumour has it.'

  'We get on well enough.' I cracked a nut. Arruntius was an acceptable dinner companion, but not one to swap cosy secrets with. 'He may not take me into his confidence as much as he used to, but then I've never been a politician like yourself, my dear, so it doesn't really signify.'

  Silia was peeling an apple. She looked up.

  'No politics, Gnaeus, they're boring. And,' she added carefully, 'bad for one's health.'

  The Numidian boy - I'd called him Masinissa, just for fun - smiled a hooded smile and padded off to top up the wine jug.

  'Oh, don't misunderstand me, Petronius.' Arruntius had ignored her. He waved his newly filled cup, spilling a few drops on to the couch. 'You wouldn't be alone, old son. Lots of people are having second thoughts about Nero this past year, what with that new wife of his and bastard Tigellinus running things. Too many deaths, my friend. Too much grief.'