‘Why, gentlemen, good evening, or should I say good morning? If you have come to visit me, you can report that I am recovered. But if you don’t mean me well and come as assassins, I know my son is not responsible — he would never order his mother’s death.’
She paused at fresh sounds of further horsemen on the road outside. She nodded at me, and I went to the door, down the empty passageway and into a small paved courtyard. In the light of torches fixed in the wall, I glimpsed a clump of red-gold curls: Nero was there with his German mercenaries. I know that he had not come to save his mother. He swaggered across, a small wine cup in his hand.
‘Why, Parmenon, good evening.’
I sank to my knees before him and he patted my head.
‘Are you grieving already, Parmenon?’
I knew the reason for his visit even as I heard shouts from inside the house. Nero shrank away, as I leapt to my feet and hurried back down the passageway. The door had been closed but I kicked it open. Anicetus and his two lieutenants had now pushed Agrippina back onto the small pallet bed. She was half sitting, her black hair loosened and framing her face. She glanced quickly past them at me: it was her farewell, a slight smile containing all her bravery, and her beauty in those lustrous eyes. One of the lieutenants, I think it was Oberitius, pushed her further back, and before I could intervene, he brought down the flat of his sword, dealing her an ugly blow to the head. Hercules drew his dagger, as Agrippina, the blood coursing down her face, pushed herself back against the wall. She looked once more past them as if she knew that her son was nearby, hiding in the shadows. She took her gown by the neck and ripped it open, thrusting her body forward.
‘I am Agrippina!’ she shouted, eyes blazing. ‘Daughter of Germanicus, sister of Caligula, mother of Nero! Yes, mother of Nero!’ She clutched her stomach. ‘If you must strike, then strike here!’
Hercules hesitated.
‘Strike at my womb!’ Agrippina shouted.
His blade went down, thrusting in up to the hilt. Agrippina arched forward, eyes closed, mouth open. She collapsed to the floor. I crept within the doorway and stood in the shadows. I couldn’t stop trembling. I felt as if a cold wind had wrapped itself around me, numbing my mind and heart. Agrippina’s body sprawled on the floor, as the three assassins stepped back, looked fearfully at each other. There was a sound of footsteps and Nero’s shadow crossed the threshold. He grinned sideways at me and I saw Caligula’s face. Two devils in one! Nero stretched his hand out, fingers twisted into a claw, which he pressed into my face pushing my head further back into the corner.
‘Is she dead?’ His voice was coarse and deep. ‘Is my mother dead?’
He walked across and pulled over the corpse. Squatting down, he stared curiously at the face.
‘Give me some wine!’
Anicetus filled a goblet, which was the one Agrippina had used. Nero slurped from it, as he stretched out his hand and touched the pool of blood. He stared and, grabbing his mother’s torn dress, rent it even further. He minutely examined the corpse, noting each bruise and lesion.
‘She was beautiful,’ he murmured. ‘Wasn’t she, Anicetus? Look at her breasts, her neck?’
The silence in the room grew oppressive. Nero got to his feet.
‘Parmenon, are you still there?’ He looked up at the ceiling. ‘And what of Mother? Do you feel her, Anicetus? Her ghost? They make a precious pair, don’t they? Uncle Caligula and her.’
Nero began to hop strangely from foot to foot. He went to the window, looked out at the fading moon and quickly withdrew, flattening his back against the wall.
‘She’s in the garden!’ he whispered. ‘Anicetus, get me. . get me some black broad beans!’
Anicetus stood rooted to the spot.
‘Get them!’ Nero urged.
Anicetus hurried to the door, glancing fearfully at me. A short while later he returned and thrust a handful of beans into Nero’s hand. The monster stood, head tilted back, and put the beans into his mouth, some dropping out to clatter on the floor. Nero took his sandals off and did a strange barefoot dance, snapping his fingers, a popular exercise to frighten away ghosts. He left, running out into the garden where a small fountain bubbled. Three times he washed his hands in the icy water and came back, snapping his fingers and throwing over his shoulders the black beans he’d stuffed into his mouth. He paused gasping, muttering strange words, spells he had learnt. All the time I stayed still, until the left side of my face grew numb and I began to rub it. I wanted to flee but I couldn’t. All I could see was that madman and Agrippina’s corpse stiffening on the floor, the widening pool of blood mixing with her long black hair.
‘Excellency.’ Anicetus stepped forward and grasped Nero’s shoulder.
‘What is it?’ the monster gasped.
‘You are to be congratulated,’ Anicetus soothed, ‘on being rescued from a treasonable conspiracy against your life.’
‘Am I?’ Nero asked anxiously. The monster was still half drunk.
Anicetus pointed to Agrippina. ‘She was responsible; her threats were well known.’
Nero staggered to a stool and sat down.
‘And her accomplice?’ he asked anxiously.
Anicetus turned his head, smiling at me through the darkness. ‘Why, Caesar, he stands just within the doorway. He should be brought back to Rome. I am sure Tigellinus would be delighted to put him to the question.’
Anicetus walked towards me. He didn’t even flinch as his sandals slapped through Agrippina’s blood. He stretched out his sword and thrust the tip into the soft part of my throat.
‘The eyes and ears of Agrippina,’ he whispered. ‘What are you going to do, Parmenon? Beg for your life? Hercules! Oberitius!’ He called out to his two lieutenants. ‘Bind his hands!’
The two ruffians came forward. I became aware of warmth, of hands touching me, of what had happened, of the yawning emptiness. I would never talk to Agrippina again. I would never shout at her, smile at her, tell her she was wrong. Above all, those eyes of hers would never again catch mine, smiling and winking. Oh, I know all about her cruelties, her depravity. . but I loved Agrippina. The sheer emptiness of a life without her shattered my soul. I lashed out, longing to grasp a sword and plunge it in deep. I was aware of footsteps in the corridor outside, and one of the Germans came to enquire what was going on. Anicetus bawled at him to stay away and guard the gates. I was pummelled and kicked, my arms seized, my wrists lashed and bound together. I was forced to kneel, while Hercules seized my hair, yanking my head forward. I heard the hiss of a sword drawn by Oberitius. Looking to the left, I glimpsed his sandalled feet apart, legs tense. He was bringing the sword back for the killing blow.
‘Caesar!’ Anicetus’s voice was low and soothing. ‘We should execute him now, and take his head back to Rome as further proof. Or, as I have said, Tigellinus could put him to the question. Once Parmenon has confessed the details of how he and his mistress plotted your overthrow, we could make it public and read it out to the Senate, the Praetorian Guard, the provinces and the army.’
I tasted blood in my mouth. Lifting my head, I stared at that figure sitting in the chair still muttering to himself. I thought of Tiberius’s cruel face, Caligula’s mad eyes and Claudius’s twisted mouth opening and shutting like that of an ugly carp. I didn’t really care whether I died now or was taken back to Rome. I’d confess to nothing.
‘Caesar!’ Anicetus demanded. ‘I await your orders!’
I heard the stool scrape back, as Nero got to his feet and made his way over.
‘Well, well, well!’ he breathed. He patted me on the head. ‘What are you doing down there, Parmenon? Get him up! Get him up!’
I was hustled to my feet. Nero pushed his face a few inches from mine, his eyes lazy, his mouth half open. The monster was smiling at me.