The Confessions of Young Nero

by Margaret George

  “I don’t like having to entertain at someone else’s villa,” I said. “Why not mine at Baiae?” I hated to involve anyone else.

  “The distance is greater between Misenum and Lucrine,” he said. “It will give the crew a chance to take the ship farther out.”

  “I see.” I would have to ask Piso or Otho to host the banquet, then, in my name. What excuse would I give? With those two pleasure lovers, I hardly needed an excuse. They were always ready to entertain.

  “She will arrive by sea in a boat of her own,” Anicetus reminded me. “She was accustomed, when she was empress, to having the imperial fleet at her disposal for journeying. Now you must convince her to abandon her own ship and take your gift one.”

  So many things to manage. So many people to convince of this or that. And all the time my heart was thundering and I could hardly think. “I will.”

  • • •

  The bay was ready for its five-day celebration. Banners fluttered from trees; scores of boats with colored sails rocked in the water. Some were draped with garlands of new spring flowers, and raucous laughter pealed from their decks. Meanwhile in port amphoras of wine were being unloaded to satisfy the thirst of the holiday, along with barrels of fresh oysters and mussels. Crowds were heading for the thermal baths, where they would soak by day to recover from their overindulgence at night. As for Minerva herself, the ceremonies to honor her were lost in the circus of eating, drinking, sailing, fishing, singing, dancing, and adultery. Supposedly this festival was in honor of reopening the naval sailing season, and a nod to her status as the goddess of controlled warfare. This new sailing season would be remembered forever, and not because of Minerva or controlled warfare.

  • • •

  I stood on the dock watching Mother’s ship approach. I was trembling so visibly that Anicetus took my arm to steady me and said, “Take hold of yourself. Hold fast to your purpose.”

  A loud clunk sounded as the ship bumped the wooden dock and shuddered to a halt. Sailors jumped off and quickly tied it up. A gangplank was thrown out, and Mother stood at its head, searching the dock. A light breeze stirred her gown, lifting it in an airy train behind her. It pressed the silk against her body, outlining her curves and strong stature. She saw us and descended the sloping plank.

  “Mother.” I opened my arms in a gesture of welcome and leaned forward to kiss her cheek. “Welcome.”

  She looked around. “The admiral is here, I see.” She spoke to Anicetus.

  “It is my honor, Augusta,” he said, stepping back into the background and leaving me on my own.

  “I suppose he has become accustomed to his high status,” she sniffed. “Freedmen do that.”

  Ignoring her predictable snipe, I smiled and said, “I am so pleased you have come!” I turned to the harbor and gestured toward all the boats bobbing on the water. “All of the bay rejoices that you are here.” Then, slowly, I moved my arm to indicate the gift boat.

  “Oh, that is magnificent. And it looks brand-new. The gold is gleaming on it,” she said. “Whose is it?”

  “Yours,” I said. “It is my welcome gift to you.”

  Instead of smiling or clapping her hands in delight, she looked puzzled. “For me?”

  “Yes, dear Mother. With all my love.” Getting those words out was as difficult as swallowing a rabbit whole with all its fur. But I did it.

  Still she looked puzzled. “It is lovely. But I already have a boat. What in the world would I do with two here?”

  “Ah—you can leave one here and take the other back to Antium.”

  We walked closer to it and she took in the gilded carvings and the polished bronze oarlocks. “I had it outfitted with every luxury befitting your tastes,” I assured her.

  “Thank you, dear son. But it may be too much for me.” She turned and seemed to lose interest in the boat. “I shall rest up for the banquet tonight. I assume Otho has a room for me to dress for the evening in?”

  “Oh, yes.” I pointed to his villa, perched on a hill overlooking the water. “You will find everything at your disposal.”

  A slight frown crossed her face, more puzzlement. “Why did you decide to entertain in his villa rather than yours at Baiae?”

  “Oh, for variety. One gets jaded always at the same place.”

  That seemed to satisfy her curiosity, and she and her party set out for Otho’s. As soon as she was out of sight I reunited with Anicetus. “She suspects something,” I said. “She hesitates about the boat. What if she doesn’t get on it?”

  He looked at me in the way he used to when he was explaining a Greek passage I was having trouble translating. “You must make sure she does.”

  Yes. That was my part. I must think of every objection she might make, ready to counter each one.

  • • •

  The sun slid slowly beneath the waters of the bay, unusually serene now. The breeze that had ruffled Mother’s gown was gone and the air was still. Pink-gold streaks surrounded the sun as it disappeared, illuminating the clouds from within, making them glow.

  I attired myself in a green silk tunic, whisper thin and fine. As beautiful as it was, I knew I would never want to look on it again. I stood still in the sumptuous chamber Otho had lent me, closing my eyes and willing myself to be calm. Then I stepped out and made my way to the enormous vaulted hall where the night’s festivities would be held. It overlooked the bay, its wide windows embracing the entire sweep of it. Across the water I could see the lights of Pompeii, little pricks of yellow from the torches. Nearer us, lanterns from the hundreds of pleasure boats twinkled, reflecting in the water.

  Otho appeared, the eager host. “You are early!” he said. “I am so honored you would allow me to host an imperial banquet.” He plopped a wreath of roses, violets, myrtle, and ivy on my head. “The emperor is crowned; the festivities are officially open!” He put one on his own head as well. There were stacks of them on a stand, awaiting the guests. Slaves were scurrying about with baskets of rose petals, scattering them underfoot.

  “From Alexandria,” he said. “It’s too early for them here.”

  “Oh, roses!” Petronius had appeared, seemingly out of nowhere. “That is so passé!” He helped himself to a wreath. “Didn’t Antony do that at his banquets? And how many years ago was that?”

  “He was already in Alexandria, so it was easy for him.”

  “Whereas you must spend a fortune having them imported,” said Petronius. “How profligate.”

  “Profligacy has its merits,” said Otho. Just then more slaves appeared, bearing slender alabaster jars of perfume. He ordered them put on a table nearby, but one was emptied out on our feet. It smelled of narcissus. Otho sniffed it and pronounced, “From the forests of Germany.”

  “Yes, we Romans comb the world for luxuries,” said a familiar voice. Seneca’s. I was genuinely glad to see him.

  “So you are here!” I said. Keep me from doing this unspeakable deed, I wanted to beg him. Save me from myself. But instead all I said was, “I am glad.”

  “He still calls Baiae ‘the vortex of luxury,’” said Burrus, standing beside him.

  Seneca looked around, enjoying his distaste of the tasteless display of wealth. “I came to inspect the perfect example of it,” he said, as Otho rushed up and put wreaths on their heads.

  “I expect an essay about this!” he said gleefully.

  “I have already written it,” said Seneca.

  Now more people were pouring into the room. I saw Piso in a crowd of guests: senators and officials, all having shed their gravitas and ready to frolic. There was not a toga in sight.

  Musicians entered in the back and began playing—lyres and flutes. They were not particularly skilled, but with all the noise no one would hear them properly in any case, and an artist like Terpnus would have been wasted—and insulted—in such a venue.

 
Veiled women sat at booths along the walls—fortune-tellers. People lined up to have their futures told.

  “I hired them from Cumae, which isn’t far,” said Otho.

  “They are all charlatans,” said Seneca. “Just because they come from Cumae does not make them true sibyls.”

  “Perhaps it rubs off on them!” said Petronius.

  Genuine or not, I would not dare consult one now. I touched the gold bracelet I had worn especially for this occasion. Would it protect me or would it protect Mother? It would have to choose. How ridiculous. As if an object could choose. Nero, take hold of yourself!

  Beautiful women glided through the crowd, their hair piled high, adorned with pearls and jewels beneath the floral crowns. Were they wives, daughters, courtesans, or some of each? But my ordinary appreciation for such creatures had fled; in fact, my apprehension this evening had killed every appetite I had ever had.

  Just as I was thinking this, however, a woman of such sublime beauty floated past that I gaped. It was—it had to be—Otho’s new wife, Poppaea. I blinked, and when I looked again, he was leading her over to me.

  “May I present my wife, Poppaea Sabina, my dear emperor?”

  She knelt, then rose with a fluid motion.

  “You are blessed, Otho,” I said. “And I congratulate you on your good fortune.”

  Poppaea was looking straight at me, not dropping her eyes in deference as was usual. They were of an amber color. In fact, all her being was tinged with amber, and her hair had all the shades of the most costly amber—tawny, gold, honey, bronze, hazel, tortoiseshell—for amber is not one color but many. I had never seen such richness of color, so vibrant it made all others look faded.

  “I am honored,” she said. Her voice was as rich and promissory as her looks. “We are honored that you would choose our villa to host not only yourself but your mother.”

  Mother. She had not yet appeared. Was something wrong? Had she been told about the boat? Her spies were everywhere, and the necessity of the trained crew made too many people knowledgeable about the plot. “You are the true hosts,” I said. “And the Augusta and I are grateful.” But where was the Augusta?

  The food service was about to begin; Otho had announced his welcome to the guests, and I had spoken to them as well. Slaves were carrying in platters with artfully arranged dainties that would begin the banquet. The place for Mother on the dining couch remained empty. I leaned on mine, willing her to appear. Would she have to be sent for?

  The platter of snails, oysters, and sea urchins was set before us. We must begin. Just then there was a stirring in the back of the hall, and Mother entered. Relief flooded me, followed by fear. It would happen. The hope of it not happening was gone. I was not to be spared. Neither was she.

  She strode through the room like Athena, lesser mortals cast aside. She approached the head couch, seeking her rightful place.

  “Good evening,” she said. Otho enthusiastically welcomed her and bade her take her place.

  “We are just beginning,” he said. “You have before you the offerings of Neptune.” He indicated the platter.

  She stretched out on the couch, leaning on her elbow. She was facing me, her eyes searching mine.

  At that moment Petronius stood up and was announced as “the Umpire of Drinking.” “I will decide how much wine we shall imbibe and what proportion of water will be mixed with it.” He swirled his hands around and pointed to a giant amphora. “Setine!” he said. He walked to another amphora and cried, “Falernian!” Then to yet another, announcing, “Massic! My preference is for Setine. Shall we begin with that? Can we finish all three by the end of the evening? And rest assured, our host the emperor has many more at the ready, so drink your fill. And I decree—half water and half wine.” There were groans. “Very well, one third water and two thirds wine. Servers, pour!”

  Mother took her cup and looked into its depths. “I throw caution to the winds,” she said, taking a sip.

  “All that is past,” I said, tilting the cup to my lips.

  Oh, she was fair that night. Lovely in the way only autumnal beauty can be. She was charming, lighthearted, making clever conversation with everyone surrounding her. When the formal part of the banquet was over, she exchanged places with Piso to be beside me. All around us the guests were halfway to being drunk, in that delightful state where desires are heightened and cares fade to shadows. But I had not drunk much, and neither had she. We looked at one another with clear eyes.

  There was an intimacy between us, not as one normally means the word, but something deeper than that. She leaned her head on my shoulder, as if she was weary and finally putting down her burden. As if all guards were dropped between us. As they were, since this was our last time together.

  “You have made me very happy,” she murmured. “More than I can say.”

  So that was my gift to her. Her last day was happy, all that she could wish.

  Now we both drank, free to let go. I cherished her in those moments, and she did me.

  • • •

  The evening ended. Girls from Spain had performed posture dances. Acrobats had entertained. Players had wagered sums on dicing. Petronius and his cronies had departed for a private evening of sex games. The floor was littered with food scraps, crushed rose petals, and trampled floral crowns. Pools of spilled wine seeped into the stone. Mother and I stood up, shakily.

  “Thank you,” she said quietly.

  Should I say, Stay here—spend the night here—do not go back to Lucrine? But it was too late. The thing had taken on a life of its own, hurtling toward its destination.

  “Let me come with you to your boat,” I said.

  “Boat?” She seemed to have forgotten it. “I will return to Lucrine by litter, I think.”

  “It is too far, and the litter bearers will stumble in the dark,” I said. “The boat is faster and safer. Come.”

  Our guards escorted us down to the dock. She stood looking at her two boats and started to enter her own. But the crew was not there.

  “Look, your new one is ready to leave this very moment!” I said. Anicetus had made sure the sailors had remained onboard. “And if you don’t choose this one, I shall take it amiss, think you have spurned my gift.”

  She clasped me to her. “This is your gift. To let me embrace you again.”

  I embraced her back, tortured by what I knew. “Gladly given,” I said. I kissed her.

  She took my hand, then touched my arm. She felt the bracelet, caressed it, turning it. “This has kept you safe,” she said. “Safe, safe, and I rejoice.”

  I let her go, and she mounted the gangplank. She turned for an instant and looked at me; she was a black outline against the moonless sky.

  “Cast off,” Anicetus ordered the crew.

  Slowly the boat left the dock and made its way out into the bay, vanishing from sight.

  “Now we wait,” he said.

  XLIX

  The hours passed. I was back at my villa at Baiae. Everything was just as I had left it—stools, tables, even scrolls and lampstands. But why shouldn’t it be? The darkness outside was profound, in the moonless night. I lit only one lamp and it fought against the dark, unable to banish it.

  Banish the darkness. Banish the darkness within and without. Oh, would that ever be possible? She was gone; it was done; I had done it. My trembling had ceased and a wooden calm pervaded me. The flame guttered and sputtered, like the flame of life, hers now extinguished.

  A scuffling at the door, like wolf’s claws, caused me to leap up. I flung open the door to find Anicetus standing there, sweat pouring down his face.

  “It’s failed!” he gasped out, panting. I pulled him in, closed the door. We were alone; the slaves were sleeping in their quarters.

  “What?” All the horror of the deed, without the deed having been done?

  He sank dow
n onto a stool. His hair was in disarray, soaked with sweat, standing in tufts. “She got away. The boat did collapse, but after that everything went awry. Not everyone was in on the plot; there were too many sailors—it was too dangerous to let them all know. So the trained ones rushed to the listing side to try to capsize it quickly, while the ignorant ones rushed to the other side to try to save it. The boat then stabilized, although it kept sinking, but gently. One of your mother’s ladies called out, “Help! I am the empress!” and was promptly beaten to death by oars and staves. So then your mother knew it was a plot to murder her; she jumped overboard and swam away, although her arm was injured.”

  “She swam?” She had been so plied with wine and food, how could she? “I didn’t know she could swim,” I said stupidly. “Where is she now?”

  “She swam close to shore and was rescued by some fishermen still out in their boats. Or maybe it was merrymakers. Whoever it was, they rowed her to the shore by her villa at Lucrine. The beach was filled with onlookers who had seen the accident.”

  “Do they think it was an accident?”

  “The people, yes. What else would they think? They weren’t on the ship and couldn’t see what happened.”

  “But she knows!”

  “Yes, she knows.”

  Oh, gods! She knew, she knew, she knew, she survived and would pitilessly take her revenge. “She’ll arm her slaves!” Worse pictures flew through my mind. “No, she’ll come with a contingent of Praetorians! She’ll have me taken prisoner! She’ll then go to the Senate and incriminate me.”

  “Control yourself,” said Anicetus. He took charge, calmed me as he had done when he was my tutor and I still a boy. “There is time yet. Send for Seneca and Burrus.”

  • • •

  Their villas were nearby and if they thought it strange to be awakened in the deep of the night and ordered to the imperial villa, they did not show it and arrived within the hour.