The Confessions of Young Nero

by Margaret George

  Should I have some secret recognition of it? “I will be happy here,” I promised her.

  “Yes, Lucius. Be happy. Happiness has not been the lot of our family up until now, but for you it can all be different.” She moved softly to me and put her arms around me; she caressed my face, stroking me as if I were a kitten. “Dear, dear Lucius,” she murmured, her eyes closed. I found it reassuring, comforting. I truly had a protector. But at the same time I wanted to wriggle away. The reassuring feelings were tinctured with something dark and I pushed them away.

  • • •

  Anicetus and Beryllus arrived a few days later, along with more household slaves. Household goods were not needed, as this villa was so stocked and adorned it put the Palatine house to shame. I roamed the rooms, coming upon one sublime statue after another. On the wide terrace facing the sea was a depiction of struggling men entangled in the coils of a giant serpent.

  I stood in front of it trying to trace the twinings of the coils. The man was straining with all his power but was unable to free himself, and the two younger men were caught and helpless.

  “Magnificent, isn’t it?” said Mother. “We stole it from the Greeks. Well, not really stole—but borrowed, shall we say? It is a Roman marble copy of a Greek bronze. What I’d give for the original! It’s probably in Delphi.”

  “Who is it?”

  “It’s Laocoön, the high priest of Poseidon in Troy, and his sons. They tried to warn the Trojans not to take the horse into the city, but Athena sent sea serpents to strangle them and silence their warning.”

  Why didn’t Poseidon protect his priest? I didn’t like Poseidon. But I would never voice this aloud, since I might have to travel on his sea. Outside, I could hear the sounds of his realm, the crashing waves. Later that day I explored the cliff above the sea but did not dare try the path leading down to it. It stretched out to an empty horizon, but Anicetus had told me that if I were a bird I could fly directly to the island of Sardinia. And that if I wanted to fly a bit to the left I would come very soon to the small island where my mother had been exiled.

  “Not much to see there,” he said. “Very bare. No natural springs for water. A fine natural prison.”

  I never wanted to behold it. I changed the subject. “Is there a temple in Antium?”

  “Oh, yes, a very big one, to the goddess of fortune. There’s even an oracle associated with it. Not as famous a one as the sibyl at Cumae or Delphi, but much more convenient, I daresay. There’s also a shrine at the place where the son of Aeneas, Ascanius, landed once.”

  “I want to go there!” I said.

  “I’ll ask permission to take you—if you finish your studies today and tomorrow without fidgeting.”

  Although I am prone to restlessness, I kept it in check while I listened with what I hoped were wide eyes to Anicetus explaining about the monumental historical work by Livy, which in reality I found very dull. But there was a prize to be had at the end of it, one I wanted. And so I endured the recitation of Ab Urbe Condita Libri—Books from the Foundation of the City.

  • • •

  True to his word, Anicetus took me into Antium, which was a tiny town compared to Rome. Nonetheless, the temple would have been worthy of any city. The thick pillars encircling the sanctuary on its platform were of golden stone. Throngs of people were gathered around it, some worshipping and others simply selling goods from stalls. Many specialized in offerings for the goddess, flowers and sweet incense.

  “Here!” one aggressive vendor called, waving a bunch of narcissus and violets. “Her favorites!”

  Anicetus bought one, saying we needed something to offer her, but we must save our coins for the oracle. The statue of the goddess of fortune was to be pulled out of the dim sanctuary, where one of her acolytes would bring out a little box with wooden tokens in it. One by one the people seeking the goddess’s pronouncement on their fate would take a token and read her prediction.

  “This is not the goddess of blind chance, or of cruel randomness, but of the hidden will of fate, which is a fixed thing. It is hard to explain the difference, but it is there.”

  “Is my fate already fixed, then?” I asked. “And whatever I do, I cannot alter it?”

  “That is what some say,” he said. “But the gods are notorious for changing their minds.”

  We shuffled up, waiting our turn. I saw people staring at us; word must have gotten out that Mother was back in Antium. But I did not want to be associated with her; I wanted to be invisible, seeking the oracle on my own.

  The man just ahead of us received his token and scurried away to read it in private. Now I faced the stern visage of the goddess on her pedestal. Was that truly what fate looked like? No softness, no yielding, no mercy? Anicetus gently tapped my back; I should move forward to the little chest.

  It lay on a wooden table, its lid open. It was not large; even my child’s hand did not have much room inside it. I plunged my fingers down and felt the slippery wooden tokens inside. They made a dull clacking as I touched first one, then another. Was whichever one I chose also fixed, so that my fingers would go there of their own accord? They closed around one and I withdrew it. Then I turned away, leaving my place to the next suppliant.

  Clutching the token, I led Anicetus to a shady place beyond the vendors. Once we had stopped, I opened my sweaty palm to see Greek writing on the token. I still could not read, either Latin or Greek, so silently I handed it to Anicetus to read and translate.

  His brows furrowed. Was it something dire? Oh, why did I take that one? Why not the one next to it instead? Oh, why, why?

  He gave a crooked smile. “Well, this is a puzzle. It says, ‘There is no respect for hidden music.’” He shook his head. “The oracle is obscure today. But she is known for that. So, little Lucius, you must make of that what you will. Interpret it as best you can. As for me, I can make no sense of it.”

  After that we visited the shrine set up on the seashore to Ascanius, my ancestor. There was a little cove beyond the rocks; the sea pounded them but even at high tide did not reach the statue of Ascanius, looking noble. Was it because he was grandson to a goddess? I should have felt stirred by this tribute, but all I could think of was the saying on the token, which felt as if it was burning in my palm. There is no respect for hidden music. Whatever it meant, my life would be governed by it.

  X

  The idyllic days rolled on; even in winter the villa was beautiful; sometimes spray from the sea carried as far as the windows facing the cliff if the wind was stiff enough, coating us with a fine salty mist. My lessons continued and I fancied I could feel my head expanding with everything I was learning, like a melon swelling on a vine. They taught me the letters of the Latin alphabet until I could shout them out in order upon command. That being mastered, I then was taught to form the letters—a step on the way to being able to write and then, finally, to read. They gave me a wooden board with the letters incised into it, so I could practice tracing their shapes.

  “No, no, Master Lucius!” Beryllus grabbed the stylus out of my left hand, switching it to my right. “Use this hand!”

  “But it is not as comfortable,” I said.

  “The right hand is the correct one,” he insisted.

  I didn’t like using it; it was awkward for me. But when Anicetus agreed with Beryllus, I gave in. “Normal people use the right hand,” he said. “Let no one say you are not normal in every way! Switch the bracelet to your left wrist so you can write more easily with the right hand.”

  I pulled off my gold spiral bracelet and moved it over; inside, protected by a crystal, was the snakeskin from the creature who had frightened off the intruders. True to her word, Mother had commissioned a bracelet of it and made me wear it, to remind myself of the miraculous delivery from harm.

  “When you master this, you will start on the wax tablets.”

  “And then we will begi
n to teach you to read.”

  Read! It seemed a reasonable bargain in exchange for forcing myself to use my right hand.

  • • •

  By the time it felt natural to draw and form letters with the right hand, spring had come to the villa. A sweet warmth touched the gardens, coaxing them to put forth tiny new green leaves on all the shrubs. The earthy tang of fertilizer rode the breezes as gardeners spread it around roots and plant beds. That anything so foul could give rise to the perfume of flowers was a great mystery. I liked to stroll through the gardens, asking questions about what would grow here and when it would bloom. The gardeners were very patient with my questions, telling me where some of the plants had come from and superstitions connected with them.

  “The yew, here”—one gardener said, nodding toward a hedge—“is used by the Furies. It has a poison inside the needles. And yarrow is what Achilles used to heal wounds.” He pointed to the newly sprung stalks. “We still use it for that. Crocus, violet, iris, hyacinth, narcissus, and rose are sacred to Persephone, because that is what she was gathering when Hades grabbed her.”

  He gestured toward the bushes, not yet ready to bloom. “The king of flowers is the rose, of course,” he said. “But to be honest, they grow best in Alexandria. That is why they are imported here by the shipload.”

  There was a scuffling and scratching from the base of one of the rosebushes, and he exclaimed, “So he’s up! Now we can know that winter is truly gone.” He bent down and picked up a large tortoise with handsome yellow and black markings. “Have you had a good winter’s nap?” He rotated the creature, turning him to face me, then tilted him to show PATER PATRIAE carved on his underside. “He’s an old fellow, been here, so they say, since the days of the great Augustus. It was when Augustus was staying here that a commission from the Senate offered him the title Father of His Country. So perhaps Pater here was marked to commemorate that day.”

  Augustus again! Was there no escape from him, even here? Would his shade dog my footsteps no matter where I went?

  I dutifully patted the animal’s scaly head and hurried back to the house.

  Inside, the filmy silk curtains had been drawn back to allow the spring sun into the rooms. I heard voices from the large chamber that overlooked the sea, but I gave them no mind, until Mother’s voice rang out.

  “Lucius! I can tell your footsteps from a thousand others. Do not sneak past, but attend me in here.”

  I crept into the high-ceilinged room to see Mother, dressed in her best, ears weighted with jewels, likewise her neck, standing beside a tall, gray-haired man. He turned to see me and smiled, setting down a goblet.

  “This is my precious son, Lucius Domitius Ahenobarbus,” said Mother. Her tone was sweeter and more unctuous than I had ever heard it. She must be up to something. “In taking me to wife, you will be taking him into your heart.”

  The man came forward and took my hand. “It will be an honor,” he said. His eyes were a warm brown and kindly. But he was old!

  “What do you mean?” I asked Mother. “Who is this?”

  “Do not be rude!” She turned to the man, ignoring me. “Crispus, you must not think I have not taught him manners.”

  “I am sure it is a shock,” said the man. “A stranger is suddenly dropped into his life.” Now it was Mother who was ignored while the man spoke to me. “I understand that, and I do not expect you to let me take your father’s place. But in time I hope we can be friends.”

  I did not know what to say, so I only nodded.

  “This is Gaius Sallustius Crispus Passienus,” said Mother proudly. “A consul ten years before you were born, a senator, an adviser to Caligula and now Claudius. A very important man!” She hooked her arm through his and looked up at him adoringly. To his credit, he did not blush or simper, merely patted her hand. “We will be married in a fortnight. He has come down to meet you and for us to spend time together away from the eyes and spies of Rome.”

  “One is never away from the spies of Rome,” he said, casting a glance at one of the slaves standing duty. “But what fun would it be without them?”

  I decided then that I liked him.

  • • •

  They were married quickly, with the blessing of Claudius, who had ordered Crispus to divorce his wife so he could marry Mother. I was startled to learn that he could be ordered to do such a thing and comply happily—or seemingly happily. Within just a few months, he was appointed proconsul for Asia and sent to Ephesus; Mother announced her intention to join him there. She seemed girlishly giddy to be going far away, barking out orders for her trunks and traveling cloaks. I was torn between wanting to see the east with her and having the freedom of being here without her.

  “Can I go?” I asked wistfully as I watched her sorting through her toiletries to choose what to take.

  I expected her to keep sorting without looking up, but she stopped and looked hard at me. “Why would you want to, little one?”

  “I have heard tales of it,” I said. “Anicetus and Beryllus tell me of the Temple of Diana there, one of the seven wonders of the world. And there is another of the wonders nearby, the Mausoleum of Halicarnassus.”

  “Are you especially devoted to Diana?” she asked. “And to mausoleums?”

  “No, but I want to see the biggest and best of anything; the temple is the biggest, and the mausoleum is the best.”

  “We have a famous mausoleum in Rome.”

  “Augustus’s? It is not beautiful as Anicetus says the Halicarnassus one is.”

  “Anicetus! I wonder what he is teaching you.” She frowned as if she were remembering something. “I would not let you set foot in the east,” she said, “no matter how many temples and mausoleums there are. My father died there under mysterious circumstances. Our ancestor Antony came to ruin there, and died by his own hand. It is dangerous to venture there. It corrupts the brain.”

  I looked at her heaps of jewels and cosmetics being readied for the journey. “Then why are you going?”

  “To protect Crispus. I do not want anything to befall him, far from Rome with no witnesses.”

  “You care for him, then?”

  She got up from her stool and came over to me. “Of course I do,” she said, as if there was no question of it. Then she knelt down and embraced me. “But not as I care for you, and you care for me. No one, no husband, can come between us. Never.” She began stroking my hair in that way I found both exciting and repellent, and kissing my cheek. “I have done it all for you,” she whispered fiercely. “Marrying him. Going to Ephesus now to safeguard him.”

  I wriggled out of her disturbing embrace.

  “We needed a protector, Lucius. A man, a wealthy and powerful man, to keep enemies at bay.” She touched the gold bracelet. “Never forget. You and I are surrounded by danger. But Crispus makes us a sturdy fence.”

  • • •

  After she departed, I felt a great sense of both freedom and unease. I had not realized how much of a presence she had had even when she was not actually in a room, and being suddenly relieved of its brooding weight made the days lighter. At the same time, her talk of danger made me skittish. If she thought I stood in danger, why had she left? And why had she not appointed some weathered soldier to guard me at all times? Instead, the open villa seemed to invite trespassers. Before long, a message came from Mother while she waited in Brundisium for a ship to Ephesus—that I should move to Crispus’s villa on the other side of the Tiber, where it would be better guarded. She must have had the same thoughts I did. So back to Rome I went.

  It was not Rome proper, but an area across the Tiber where many gardens and villas lay, as it had more open spaces.

  If I were writing this as a history I could not say, “These were the happiest days of my life,” because I would instantly be countered by the retort, “Surely being emperor gave you happy days beyond those available
to ordinary men.” But I would counter that the only things unavailable to an emperor are the pleasures and freedoms of an ordinary man—or boy. And the days I spent at Crispus’s villa, with little supervision, are sacred memories to me.

  Mother was gone. Crispus was gone. Even Claudius was gone, attacking Britain. I had only Anicetus and Beryllus to mind me, and Rufus, a legionary soldier, to guard me. I still needed a guard against the possible machinations of Messalina. But Rufus was unobtrusive and, best of all, nonjudgmental. He never said, “Master Lucius, you don’t want to be doing that,” or “That is inadvisable,” or “I shall have to report that to the lady Agrippina.” No, he looked the other way and stayed discreetly in the background while I roamed the Janiculum Hill and its shady, leafy gardens, floated toy boats from the muddy banks of the rushing Tiber, climbed overhanging branches and swung back onto the shore, dropping into the rushes. Caesar’s old villa and its grounds were near Crispus’s and I liked to wander there, thinking about Caesar and the days Cleopatra lived there with him, scandalizing Rome. He had given his gardens to the people of Rome, and those who had condemned him were happy enough to stroll on his grounds and enjoy the spoils: a lesson here?

  Farther up along the banks of the river were the huge villa and gardens of my grandmother Agrippina the Elder, inherited by Caligula. He had built a private racetrack there, set with an obelisk imported from Egypt, where he held chariot races. It was still in use by special permission; teams not well-known competed there rather than at the Circus Maximus. The crowds were smaller and the charioteers less expert, but for me it was bliss. My reward for doing well at lessons was always the same: an excursion to the races. Anicetus enjoyed them as much as I, so I never had to worry that he would tire of taking me.