In the February following his accession, Messalina gave birth to a puny boy who was promptly named Britannicus. Agrippina played the kind kinswoman, sending gifts to both parents as well as to the child. She hid her rage and resentment well. She stalked Messalina like a feral cat would its prey, but never once did she show her claws. Instead, she fought her battles through her sister Julia who, with her beauty and wild, wanton ways, had soon become the toast of elegant Roman society.
Agrippina quietly urged Julia on. She introduced her sister to the one man whose mind Agrippina admired: our noble Spanish philosopher and financier, Annaeus Seneca. I never really found out why Agrippina admired that man so much.
‘It might have been he who betrayed us to Caligula, remember?’ I warned.
Agrippina shook her head. ‘That traitor’s still alive!’
‘What? Afer the orator?’
‘That traitor is still alive!’ she repeated, eyes widening.
She was, of course, referring to old Claudius.
She pressed a finger against my lips. ‘In time, Parmenon, in time all debts are settled!’
I was still concerned about Seneca. He’d returned from exile, more cunning and vindictive than ever. He was also an arrant hypocrite. He wrote treatises on youth and on old age and composed eloquent reflections on man’s destiny. He preached poverty and austerity, and yet he relished the comforts of high society. He claimed to despise wealth but was as shrewd an investor as any banker.
Agrippina discussed philosophical matters with him, sharpening her mind, preparing herself for further debates with Claudius. She also made no attempt to disguise her ambition for Seneca to become her beloved Nero’s tutor. Agrippina played a clever, subtle game, or thought she did. She wined and dined Seneca, laughed at his witticisms, flattered his overweening ego but refused any dalliance. Instead, Julia her sister was discreetly put forward as the philosopher’s possible mistress. They became regular visitors to the court, the favoured guests who had to be invited to any important banquet or supper party.
‘I know what you are doing,’ I challenged Agrippina one evening after the couple had left.
‘Do you, Parmenon?’ she replied. ‘I love my sister.’
‘No, you don’t. You love only one person, Domina — your son.’
She refused to hold my gaze but walked back to a side table and poured a goblet of wine.
‘Have you heard the rumours?’ I asked.
‘Oh, don’t tell me that Messalina’s pregnant again!’
‘No, Domina, Messalina is watching you.’
‘And?’
‘Be careful, you can provoke her too far!’
Agrippina refused to heed the warning. She continued to entertain and flatter Claudius as well as encourage her sister to become the leading light of Roman society. Messalina decided enough was enough and struck. One night I was awoken by the sound of crashing and screaming and the clash of swords. I left my bedchamber, a sheet wrapped round me, and fled down the passageways and galleries. The rest of the household had already been disturbed. The sounds were coming from the far end of the house where Agrippina and her son had their bedchamber. Both were safe but Castor and Pollux paid for their brave defence of their mistress and her son with their lives. Castor was already dead, with a terrible gaping wound to his neck. Pollux, who had fought on single-handedly against the intruders, was a mess of blood and gore from head to toe. Before the intruders had fled, he had taken a thrust to the stomach. When I reached them, Agrippina was already bending over him, listening to his harsh, guttural whispers. Agrippina got to her feet, whispered to a servant who stepped forward and quickly cut the German’s throat. I had both corpses removed and sent out armed retainers to search for the intruders. They followed the trail of blood to the wall but returned empty-handed.
Agrippina was beside herself with fury. She moved her frightened son to another heavily guarded chamber and met me in her writing office. She reminded me of a raging lioness, pacing up and down, furious at the attack on her son. Only gradually did I get the details from her. She and Nero retired late, and as usual Castor and Pollux stood guard over both chambers. She had suspected nothing until woken by cries and the clash of swords. The Germans had apparently drawn the bolts on the outside of each door, a shrewd move as it prevented Agrippina or her son panicking — if they’d tried to flee their chambers, they would have run straight on to the swords of the assassins. Both Germans had fought bravely until the rest of the house had been aroused and the attackers fled, dragging their dead and wounded comrades with them.
‘How many?’ I asked.
Agrippina stopped her pacing and gestured with her hands.
‘Pollux told me there were at least ten, all masked and hooded.’ She continued, ‘Before he asked me to put him out of his agony, Pollux claimed at least half of them were either killed or wounded.’
‘It will be passed off as housebreaking,’ I replied. ‘A gang of thieves trying their luck.’
‘Housebreakers don’t move in groups of ten,’ Agrippina snapped. ‘And they don’t like cold steel. These men knew where to come and what they were after: Nero and myself.’
‘Messalina?’ I asked.
‘That bitch,’ Agrippina agreed. ‘Only someone wealthy could hire so many men, and give such precise instructions on what to do.’
‘You are safe,’ I replied. ‘Your son is unharmed. You can appeal to the Emperor.’ I spoke flatteringly.
Agrippina dismissed my words with a flick of her fingers. ‘I must think. I must plot!’ she declared and she was gone.
Agrippina was given little choice to do either. Messalina struck again, ruthlessly and to the point. The household slept late that morning until it was roused by messengers; informing Agrippina that both her sister Julia and the philosopher Seneca had been arrested for adultery, public lewdness, conspiracy and possible treason. If I hadn’t stopped her, Agrippina would have left immediately for the Palatine.
‘There’s nothing you can do,’ I urged.
Agrippina was fighting hard to control her temper. She had dismissed the stewards and the others waiting for her to carry out the funeral rites of the two Germans.
‘See to the funeral pyres,’ I urged. ‘Pack your bags and then clear your house. We’ll load the carts and leave Rome.’
Agrippina leaned forward, gripping the sides of the table as if the house was shaking.
‘Leave?’ she whispered. ‘Like some beaten dog?’
‘What can you do?’ I retorted. ‘Trot along and see Uncle Claudius? Tell him that his beloved wife tried to kill your son? You know what Claudius is like, he’ll dither about asking for evidence and Messalina will pounce. She’ll rope you in with your sister! Two of a kind, she’ll cry.’ I clutched her arm. ‘Or you can even be more stupid: go to the Emperor and defend your sister, tell Claudius that Julia is innocent of any charge. Do that,’ I warned, ‘and, by the end of the month, you and Nero will be no more.’
At first, Agrippina wouldn’t listen and let loose the most terrible rage. She strode up and down, knocking goblets, vases, statuettes onto the floor, slashing at cushions with a small knife, kicking over stools. At last her rage subsided, and she slumped onto a couch, face in her hands.
‘I’m thinking, Parmenon. Before you start boring me with your advice, I’m thinking.’ She took away her hands. ‘We’ll give the Germans honourable burial, and meanwhile tell my steward and chamberlains to pack, and load the carts. We’ll be gone from Rome within the day. I’ll send a message to Claudius protesting my innocence and saying how shocked I am by my sister’s actions.’
I smiled in agreement. Agrippina turned her head and glanced sideways at me.
‘But, one day, Parmenon, I’ll return!’
‘One day,’ I repeated.