The trireme soon docked, and ran down its gang-plank. I had been in many harbours and ports throughout the Roman world, but found Capri was the quietest. Everything was closely regulated, and there were none of the usual swaggering sailors or tempting courtesans. We were welcomed by the commander of the Emperor’s bodyguard, a stocky, thickset man, dressed in full armour. At first I thought he was the usual dim-witted bully boy until he clasped my hand, and I saw that the eyes beneath his heavy brows were bright and cynical. He looked me over from head to toe.
‘Another of Sejanus’s creatures,’ he murmured. ‘I am Macro.’ and withdrew his hand. He nodded at the Minion and ordered us to follow him.
Capri had been taken over completely by the Emperor. Macro explained, as we followed the path up to the cliff top, that there were twelve villas in all for the Emperor, his guests and household. Gardens and temples had also been laid out and built. We were given apartments in a villa not far from the harbour. Macro informed us we had an hour to make ourselves ready before the Emperor would see us.
‘So soon?’ I asked once Macro had left.
‘Tiberius doesn’t like visitors,’ the Minion replied. ‘Though he’ll be eager for news from Rome.’
‘I thought. .’
‘What?’ the Minion demanded.
‘Macro already seemed to know that I would be I coming here?’
The Minion gave a shrug. ‘You have your orders. Make sure you follow them.’
We washed and changed, then ate some white bread and grapes. Macro returned and we were led across the island to a white, marble-colonnaded villa perched high on the edge of the cliffs. It was cooled by breezes which also wafted in the perfume of exotic plants from the garden.
Tiberius met us alone in a small atrium which overlooked the garden. I glimpsed a sparkling fountain and the curtain wall, beyond which was the death-dealing fall. Tiberius sat between two pillars leading out to the garden. He didn’t recline on a couch but on a soldier’s camp chair. He was dressed in a purple and gold-fringed toga, with a simple bronze chain around his neck. He kept playing with the silver tassels on the cushions beneath him. Despite Sejanus’s warnings, I glanced up at him quickly. Tiberius looked hideous: although balding at the front, his dark hair clustered thickly round the nape of his neck, his nose was twisted slightly to the left, the jutting upper lip was made worse by the rotting teeth, and a weak chin gave his face a bitter, sneering look. His glowering dark eyes blazed in contrast to his skin which was a dirty-white like that of a whore who’d painted her face, emphasized by the fetid ulcers which covered his body. Years earlier Tiberius had tried to burn these off by cauterising them with a fiery iron. Such a clumsy cure had only made matters worse. Tiberius reminded me of a leper.
We had to wait until Macro finished his whispering. Tiberius pushed him away and beckoned us forward with his fingers. We knelt on cushions before him, heads down.
‘You come from Rome?’
‘Yes, your Imperial Highness,’ the Minion replied. ‘And we bring felicitations. .’
‘Enough of that!’ Tiberius barked like a centurion on a parade ground. ‘I’m not interested in Rome or what it thinks of me. But I understand my good friend Sejanus has undergone some sort of crisis?’
The Minion stiffened. I hid my smile of satisfaction. I was correct: Macro had known why we were here. Was this a good augury? I closed my eyes and thought of Agrippina’s face. I prayed to whatever gods there were that I would survive this ordeal.
‘Well, come on!’ Tiberius urged.
The Minion spoke quickly, describing Metellus’s death. I looked away, trying to distract myself. In the garden beyond grew asparagus and cucumbers, Tiberius’s favourite vegetables. They were kept in boxes on wheels so they could be taken in and out of the sun according to the weather. Sometimes he would go for days, eating only these or radishes from Germany. I half listened to the Minion’s lies, until a shadow passed in front of the column. Tiberius told the Minion to be quiet. Forgetting myself, I looked up. The new arrival was tall and stoop-backed, with long-fingered hands which dangled like the claws of an animal, their nails curved and dirty. The new-comer’s face was sallow and pitted and, like Tiberius, he was bald at the front with a thick crust of hair on the nape of his neck. He came and stood by Tiberius like a faithful dog.
‘My good nephew, Gaius!’ Tiberius murmured.
By then I had lowered my eyes. ‘Little Boots’ certainly didn’t resemble Agrippina with his dull face, muddy-coloured complexion and eyes like those of an opiate-drinker. Slobbery-lipped and loose-jawed, Caligula looked like an imbecile.
‘Continue,’ Tiberius murmured.
The Minion did so in a few halting sentences. Tiberius tapped his silver-gilded sandal, an ominous sound like that of a drumbeat accompanying a victim to execution.
‘And you are Parmenon?’
Again the Minion stiffened. Tiberius’s tone seemed to be more friendly.
‘Yes, your Imperial Highness.’
‘And you can vouch for all this?’
‘I know the truth, Excellency.’
‘The truth?’ A short, barking laugh. ‘If you know the truth, Parmenon, you are, truly, a very fortunate man. You are both dismissed!’
We got up from the cushions, bowed and backed out of the chamber. The Minion was very restless. Red spots appeared high on his cheeks and his agitation only deepened as Macro told him to wait whilst beckoning me to follow him. I crossed the small atrium. Macro pushed me into a doorway, told me to stay there and walked off. The door opened and a hand dragged me inside. Gaius Caligula grinned at me. Believe me, they were a family of fine actors! Gaius’s face had changed, it was no longer slack and vacuous, his eyes were a strange light-blue, and his mouth and jaw more composed. He grasped me by the shoulder, and I smelt his wine-drenched breath.
‘Well? Does she love me?’
‘Agrippina. .?’
‘Not her! Drusilla!’ Gaius snapped, referring to the younger sister.
‘Of course, your Excellency!’
Gaius wetted his lips. ‘And what do you think of the old cadaver?’ His eyes widened and he giggled behind his fingers. ‘That’s what I call Tiberius. Did you see his face?’ he continued. ‘There are bits dropping off. The Gods should call him home, eh?’ Gaius’s eyes gleamed.
Was he mad, I wondered? Or had he taken some juice which stirred his soul and excited his wits.
‘You’ll see such sights here, Parmenon, believe me! I don’t like your companion,’ he continued breathlessly. ‘Sejanus’s turd dropped hot from his anus.’
I stared round the room: it was some sort of writing office with one window overlooking the garden.
‘Oh, don’t worry,’ Caligula reassured me. ‘The cadaver can’t hear us. Right, what did Agrippina say?’
I delivered Domina’s message, and Gaius almost did a jig from foot to foot.
‘Got him! Got him! Got him!’ he murmured.
He danced away, a grotesque sight with his tall, stooping figure and his strange hair, leaping from foot to foot, hands raised like some priest in a trance. He danced back to me.
‘Say it again! Say it again!’
I delivered the full message. Caligula was quick. In spite of his excitement, he’d already memorised it and, opening the door, he pushed me out. Macro was waiting, helmet under his arms. He stretched out his hand. I noticed the bracelet on his wrists, which bore a carving of Castor and Pollux. I had seen a similar one in Agrippina’s chamber. Macro drew me close.
‘You did well there, Parmenon.’
‘How did the Emperor know?’ I gasped.
Macro stepped away, playing with the bracelet.
‘Because he’s a God.’
And, turning on his heel, he led me back to join the Minion, who was in a state of almost nervous collapse: one moment sitting on the marble stone wall bench; the next walking up and down.