Caligula agreed. ‘I’ll have to talk to the Gods about this. But come, come, Parmenon, the punishment must be more than that.’
‘Have her depicted as Lepidus’s lover,’ I continued.
‘Good!’ Caligula held his hand up. ‘That’s very good, Parmenon. I also want the names of all the other traitors involved in this plot, and something else.’ He glared round at the corpse. ‘When Mother returned to Rome she brought the ashes of my father,’ — he emphasized the words, — ‘my father Germanicus, into Rome. Well, she can do the same.’ He bawled for the captain of his guard. ‘Take Lepidus’s corpse!’ he ordered. ‘Have it burnt. I want the ashes poured into the cheapest vase you can find.’
The man hurried away and returned dragging Lepidus’s corpse by the heels. Some of his companions brought out items of furniture and a makeshift funeral pyre was made, before it was drenched in oil and Lepidus’s corpse tossed onto it. Caligula watched until the cadaver caught light.
‘I can’t stand the smell of burning flesh!’ he pouted. ‘It always makes me sick, whilst the sound of bubbling fat. . Ugh!’ He wafted a hand in front of his nose. ‘Well, I’ll go and look at the other prisoners.’
He walked away, then whirled round.
‘Oh, Parmenon, I haven’t forgotten you. You must follow your mistress into Rome and then join her in exile. You’ll be allowed to return to the city three, no, four times a year, so the bitch can get all the news.’
Off he strode. To my right Lepidus’s body was now engulfed in flames, black billowing smoke and a filthy stench. From the villa came the sound of screams and crashing, as Caligula’s bodyguards helped themselves to the slave girls. I hurried back inside to find Agrippina still sat on the couch, white-faced, tense but ready for death. I told her quickly what I had said to Caligula. She listened hollow-eyed.
‘Where there’s life,’ she whispered. ‘There’s hope.’
She stroked my cheek and then, if I hadn’t caught her, would have crashed into a dead faint onto the floor.
Five days later Agrippina, bare-footed, dust strewn on her hair and clothed in a simple tunic, walked into Rome bearing a chipped urn containing Lepidus’s ashes. She accepted her fate philosophically, more concerned about being deprived of her beloved Nero than any public humiliation. I was forced to walk behind, carrying a cushion bearing the three daggers Agrippina had bought for Caligula’s murder. Praetorian guards forced a way through the jostling crowds assembled on the streets. I was aware of shouts, of strange pungent smells; spice, sulphur, the foul odours from the cesspits and sewers. The black ravens, flocking to the graveyards to pluck at those corpses not properly buried, seemed everywhere. A fire had been lit and its smoke billowed about. The slums disgorged their inhabitants who were only too eager to watch the spectacle of one of the great ones who’d fallen lower than themselves.
Yet there was no jeering, no catcalls, no abuse. People recalled Agrippina’s father, how her mother had brought his ashes back to Rome in a similar but more honourable procession. The senators, the knights and the merchants were also wise enough to know that fortune’s fickle wheel can be spun at the touch of a hand. Today Agrippina was in disgrace but tomorrow. . who knows? Moreover, Caligula was hated and feared. Here was a woman who had dared to confront him. There was grudging respect and admiration. Indeed, by the time we had left the winding, narrow streets onto the Via Sacre leading to the Palatine, the atmosphere had imperceptibly changed. At the time I was only aware of that cushion which seemed to weigh as much as a rock, of the sweat pouring down me and of the tall, elegant figure of Agrippina, walking in front. She carried the urn with her head held high, gaze fixed before her, looking neither to the right nor the left. We climbed the Palatine hill, on which flowers and grass were strewn as if to protect her naked feet. The commander of Caligula’s bodyguard, a Thracian, realising that this was not the disgrace Caligula had intended, urged her to move faster. If anything, Agrippina walked slower.
We reached the Forum. The intended humiliation had turned into a farce, with the Emperor the butt of the joke rather than Agrippina. The ashes were summarily snatched from her hand, the daggers taken off me as an offering to the Gods, and we were bundled away to some warehouse in the palace grounds. Once the door was closed behind us, Agrippina sat down, face in hands, and cried. I crouched beside her and put my arm round her shoulders.
‘There’s no need for tears,’ I comforted. ‘There’s no need.’
She took her hands away and glanced at me. She wasn’t crying, she’d been laughing. She clutched my hand and squeezed it.
‘Tomorrow’s another day, Parmenon,’ she whispered. ‘I made a mistake, didn’t I?’
I seized the opportunity to remind her of my warnings.
‘I made one mistake,’ she interrupted. ‘Every one in that conspiracy had something to lose and all to gain, except for Progeones. I shall not make that mistake again.’
We stayed in prison for a week. Caligula swept back into Rome. Seneca, surprisingly, wasn’t punished. Someone had apparently informed Caligula that Seneca was going to die anyway, so the philosopher suffered no disgrace. The orator Afer was summoned before the Senate where Caligula delivered a fiery speech against him. Afer took his place on the rostrum and loudly proclaimed that he had no answer as he was more frightened of Caligula as an orator than he was of him as an Emperor. Caligula, the mad fool, was delighted and Afer was pardoned.
Agrippina heard all this; she sat clutching her hands in her lap. ‘You’ll forgive me, won’t you, Parmenon?’
‘For what, Domina?’
‘I always thought there was more than one spy, and I wondered if the second one was you. Now I know that it must have been either Seneca or Afer.’ She shrugged. ‘Anyway, I would have lost my head if it hadn’t been for your blackmail threat.’
The guards returned that evening. Under the cover of darkness, Agrippina and I were bundled onto a cart and taken secretly out of Rome to a warship at Ostia. It took a full day’s sailing before we reached the island of Pontia, seventy miles off the coast of Naples. It was a pleasant enough place with woods and fields, a beautiful villa on the promontory and a small theatre nearby. The commander of the guard delivered Caligula’s message.
‘Remind my sister,’ he had said, ‘that I have daggers as well as islands.’
Agrippina heeded the advice. She behaved herself. The greatest punishment was the absence of her beloved son who had been given into the care of Domitia Lepida, one of Caligula’s favourite great aunts. If fortune’s wheel was spun again, that was one woman marked down for destruction. Agrippina kept herself busy. She took up the study of botany, birds and wild life, and used the kiln to make pottery. She organised a set routine every day: we would rise early in the morning, and she would run down to the beach to swim and then return for a light meal. She would eagerly seek out any news from the mainland, write letters which were never sent and go out into the fields to collect specimens. If the weather turned harsh, she’d stay inside and work the kiln. She proved to have skilful hands and taught me how to paint the pots. Never once did she openly discuss Rome, Caligula or her son. Since most of the slaves and servants were spies, what conversations we did have took place at the dead of night when Agrippina was certain there was no one around.
I could have become her lover. Sometimes we shared more than a jug of wine, and would sit, hand in hand, or embrace.
One night I did grow amorous but she starkly pointed to a cobweb. ‘Did you know, Parmenon, that the female spider eats her mate?’
She drew away. ‘People like you, Parmenon, should have nothing to do with the likes of me. I have the same blood as Caligula. Everyone we touch dies violently. The Furies nest close to us.’
I heeded the warning. As the months passed, Agrippina was allowed more visitors and messengers from Rome, but they were only spies attempting to provoke some admission or treasonable remarks. They did bring news of her brother and his mad antics, hoping to provoke her.