‘Quickly!’ her mother murmured. ‘For pity’s sake, do it quickly!’
The officer took another step forward. ‘Excellency,’ he whispered.
Messalina looked up hopefully. The officer was well trained and his sword leapt from the scabbard. In one quick thrust he plunged it into her neck. Messalina’s mouth opened and shut, her hand clawing at the blood pumping from the gaping wound. She whispered something and slumped on her side. Evodus cackled with glee, until the officer pressed the edge of his glistening-red sword against his throat.
‘Shut up, you bastard! Just shut up!’ He nodded at me and Messalina’s mother, re-sheathed his sword and joined the cohort outside.
I was with him when he reported Messalina’s death to the Emperor. Claudius, deep in his cups, nodded and barked for more wine.
Years later, when everything had turned to dust, and Agrippina and I were preparing to flee to Antium, I broached the subject of Messalina’s fall.
‘Never once,’ I said, ‘after your rival’s death did you refer to her. You never gloated. You never rejoiced. It was as if she never existed.’
‘She was an opponent,’ Agrippina replied. ‘She died and that was the end of the matter.’
‘How did you achieve it?’ I asked. ‘How did a woman like Messalina lose her senses and involve herself in such stupidity?’
‘Have you ever watched a pastry cook, Parmenon, prepare one of those marvellous delicacies: strawberries mixed with cream, all hidden in layers of pastry?’ She wetted her lips. ‘That’s what I baked for Messalina and she gave me every assistance.’ Agrippina motioned with her hand as if to indicate layers. ‘She was wanton and spoilt. She offended the freedmen. She threatened. She believed she could do what she wanted. She hated me and was determined to take Silius at any cost. The more Claudius tolerated her wantonness, the greater grew her fury, until she lost all reason.’ She shrugged. ‘After that, it was simply a matter of waiting.’
‘As you did?’ I asked.
‘Oh yes.’
‘And the rest?’ I asked. ‘Your marriage to the Emperor?’
‘The groundwork had all been laid,’ she sighed. ‘Claudius was a goat, but as well as his mistresses he wanted a wife who was the opposite of Messalina. He believed that I was quiet and studious and, of course, I had the blood of Augustus in my veins.’ She laughed mockingly.
‘But you were his niece?’
‘Oh, you remember how we managed to overcome that little problem, Parmenon, firstly, I had old Vitellius, who was only too willing to advance my cause with the Senate and with the Emperor.’
‘Bribed already by you?’
‘Of course, as was the Senate and the Praetorian Guard. Although some people spoke out against the marriage — I remember one soothsayer describing it as a “wicked marriage bed, a torch for mourning” — Claudius and I had our way. I thought he would be too old for bed sport but I’ll give the old goat his due, he kept me as busy as I did him. The rest?’ She paused. ‘Well, perhaps, I did overdo it. I became the Emperor’s wife, and received the title of Augusta. My image was stamped on coins, and when I went through the streets, lictors carrying the fasces preceded my litter. I listened to the debates in the Senate, received the flattery of the standard-bearers.’ She smiled. ‘Marvellous times, eh, Parmenon?’
‘And what of the opposition?’ I asked.
‘Come, come, Parmenon. There was no bloodbath. You must admit I was quite restrained.’
‘Except in the case of Lollia Paulina.’
‘Oh yes.’ She tapped her sandalled foot. ‘I had to watch her. Claudius developed a passion for her; he liked to make love to her when she wore all her jewellery, especially those pearls she kept close to her skin so as to retain their purity. Within a year of our marriage, Claudius was inviting her to banquets, but she was stupid enough to start consulting fortune-tellers on how long my marriage would last. She should have kept her nose out of my business. I had her accused of treason. One night I dressed in my own jewels and pearls and gave Claudius a night of delight. The following morning Lollia Paulina was exiled.’
‘But that wasn’t enough?’ I insisted.
‘I had to make sure,’ she replied. ‘Yes, after I sent a guard to decapitate her, I wanted to make sure she was dead, so they brought her head back to Rome in a bucket of brine. I kept the head as a memorial before giving it over for burial. Were you shocked, Parmenon? Of course you were,’ she mocked. ‘Once she was gone!’
‘You made some mistakes.’
‘Oh, yes I did. You’re thinking of Seneca, our Spanish Socrates? What does Petronius say about him? “As big a humbug as he is a philosopher”!’
‘Why did you bring him back from exile?’ I asked.
‘I wanted my son to have the best: a true classical education. He did deserve that, didn’t he, Parmenon?’
Oh yes, Nero deserved the best! The person to have benefited most from the fall of Messalina was Nero. Agrippina had seized power, but not to glory in it. She had only one purpose: to ensure the accession of her son. Nero was adopted as Claudius’s heir. He was declared the ‘Prince of Youth’ and shown every honour, both in public and private. He was given his own household, and Seneca became his tutor. Everywhere he went Nero was hailed as if he was Caesar already, a god-designate. His only rival was Messalina’s son but Britannicus was weak and sickly, and Agrippina soon dealt with him. One by one his friends and protectors were removed and replaced with Agrippina’s spies, and he was edged out onto the limits of court life. I only met the boy on a few occasions; he was smiling-eyed but weak-faced, and I always felt sorry for him. Nero, on the other hand, chilled me. He loved the adulation and delighted in the role his mother had created for him.
To strengthen her son’s position even more, Agrippina decided Nero should marry Claudius’s young daughter Octavia, although she was already betrothed to a nobleman, Lucius Silanus. Agrippina began a campaign against him, accusing him, of all things, of incest with his sister. Lucius cut his throat and Nero and Octavia were betrothed; the fact that they were second cousins proved little obstacle.
Just after his fourteenth birthday, Nero received the ‘Toga Virilis’, the mark of manhood, as Agrippina was in a hurry for her son to grow up. She asked me to attend on him, which I did reluctantly as I would have preferred to keep well away from him. Whenever I was in his presence I was always reminded of Caligula, though Nero looked nothing like his hollow-eyed uncle. By that time Nero’s hair had a strong tinge of auburn, almost copper-red, and was dressed in thick masses of curls around his forehead and the nape of his neck. He had blunt, heavy features and protruding eyes. His near-sighted pale-blue eyes and heavy eyelids gave him a dreamy, innocent look, which he used as a mask to portray himself as the noble young prince, the studious scholar, the Caesar in waiting. Now and again this mask would drop, as it did on the day of his toga ceremony.
Before leaving the palace, Nero consecrated the gown of his boyhood to the House of Gods, and placed at their feet the golden chain every boy wears as a charm during their childhood. Afterwards he was escorted solemnly to the temple of Jupiter amidst the waiting, clamouring crowds. Nero loved every minute of it. He stopped at the crossroads where the priestesses of Bacchus, their heads crowned with ivy, gave him small fried cakes dipped in honey, a symbol of his new manhood. From the temple Nero was escorted to the amphitheatre, where free corn had been distributed to the mob and silver to the troops. Nero, wearing triumphal dress, was hailed and adored, and sat beaming at his worshippers, licking his lips as his eyes leered at the women. He touched my wrist and leaned over.
‘Do you know, Parmenon,’ he laughed. ‘Seneca says I must be offered all temptations so that I can be trained to master my passions!’