Lucius finished the letter with the customary closing of “Farewell,” and felt a chill as he wrote the word.
On the morning of the fourteenth day before the Kalends of Domitianus, the month previously known as October, Praetorian Guards arrived at the house of Lucius Pinarius.
Lucius was ready for them, dressed in his best toga. He had slept surprisingly well the night before. He rose at daybreak and wrote farewell letters to his old friends Dio and Epictetus, and even an affectionate message to Martial. Hilarion stood by, unsuspecting. Lucius had told him nothing about his visit to the palace; the less Hilarion knew, the better for him. What a dreary morning this would have been, had Hilarion suspected that Lucius would be dead before midday. Instead, Hilarion was in a cheerful mood, and kept exhorting him to eat something, unable to understand why Lucius had no appetite.
Lucius took a stroll through his garden. The sky was overcast but not stormy. The garden was usually dull and dreary at this time of year, but all the recent rain had kept everything quite green. At the centre of the garden stood the statue of Melancomas he had inherited from Epaphroditus. It had arrived just the day before, and Lucius had insisted that the workmen install it at once. Like Epaphroditus, he chose to display the statue not on a pedestal but at ground level. It was a pity, Lucius thought, that he would have so little time to enjoy it.
When the Praetorians arrived, Hilarion was quite flustered. Lucius assured him that all would be well, and Hilarion seemed to believe him, until Lucius told him about the letters in his study, to be delivered in the event that he failed to return. Hilarion began to weep. Lucius embraced him, then left with the Praetorians.
He was led farther into the palace than he had ever been led before. The reception room where Domitian awaited him appeared to be attached to the emperor’s private bed chamber, for through an open door Lucius glimpsed an unmade bed piled with richly embroidered pillows and coverlets. On this morning, the emperor was not stirring far from the place where he felt most secure.
At the far end of the small reception room was a dais where Domitian sat on a chair, attended only by Catullus and the small-headed creature. There was also a water clock on the dais, a beautifully made device that used a dial to indicate the hours of the day. The dial was very nearly touching the numeral for the fifth hour of the day.
A balcony to one side admitted weak daylight from the overcast sky. Lucius instinctively took a closer look at the balcony, wondering if it might provide a means of escape, but the room was located on one of the palace’s uppermost floors. The balcony looked down on a garden several stories below.
“Take off your clothes,” said Domitian.
Lucius sighed. “Dominus, I‘ve already been searched for weapons. Your guards did a thorough job.”
“I didn’t ask if you’d been searched. I told you to take off your clothes. All of them!”
Lucius did as he had been ordered. He felt no embarrassment. Instead, he felt a kind of freedom, as he had felt when he stood naked before the emperor and all of Roma in the amphitheatre.
Domitian sent the small-headed creature to look through Lucius’s discarded toga and undergarments to make sure they contained no weapons, then sucked in a sharp breath when he noticed the fascinum on the chain around Lucius’s neck. “That amulet! You always wear it, don’t you? And no harm ever befalls you.”
“That is not true, Dominus. I’ve suffered harm. Those closest to me are all dead or banished, because of you.”
“But you still live. Is it because of the amulet? Give it to me!” Domitian’s wide eyes were bloodshot and his face was haggard. He looked as if he had not slept for days.
Lucius lifted the chain over his neck. The small-headed creature snatched it from him and scurried to the dais. Domitian put the chain over his head and touched the fascinum, which nestled amid the folds of his purple robes. “Yes,” he whispered, “I can feel its power. Let it protect me today, blessed Minerva! And let this man’s presence protect me.
“My presence, Dominus?”
“Are you not a magician, Lucius Pinarius, like that accursed teacher of yours? There can be no doubt that some protective magic clings to you. That sort of thing rubs off on others. Today, I intend to keep you close at hand, until the fatal hour passes.”
Lucius smiled at the idea that he himself might be a sort of lucky charm. He was also struck by the curious reversal of their roles. Once he had stood before the emperor, a condemned man; now the emperor sat before him, convinced that he was the one facing death. Lucius had found peace when he confronted almost certain destruction, but Domitian was growing more agitated by the moment.
The small-headed creature gave a shriek and pointed to the water clock. The dial had touched the numeral V.
“Make sure the door is locked!” shouted Domitian. Catullus, who could move about the familiar room like a sighted man, stepped from the dais, strode past Lucius, and tested the door.
“Might I put on my clothes, Dominus?” said Lucius. “There’s a draft from the balcony.”
Domitian grunted and waved his hand.
Time passed with excruciating slowness. Lucius did not know what he had expected, but it was not this endless tedium. Was there not to be an attempt on the emperor’s life? What part was Lucius expected to play? Or was he simply to wait here until Domitian did or did not die, and then to die himself? It took all his presence of mind simply to stand in the middle of the room and show no emotion, as the time slowly passed.
Domitian fidgeted and sighed. His stomach growled. “Did you hear that, Lucius Pinarius? I’ve eaten nothing since yesterday morning.”
“Do you fear poison, Dominus?”
“It’s not poison that will kill me. I fear some drug that might render me unconscious and vulnerable. I’m hungry!”
“My stomach, too, is empty, Dominus.”
“Is it? I set aside some apples I was given yesterday, for my midday meal today – if I should live until then. They’re in the bowl on the table by my bed. Fetch one, Catullus, and give it to Lucius Pinarius. We’ll see if it makes him sick.”
Catullus brought him an apple. Lucius bit into the crisp flesh. Domitian watched him eat and began to salivate, so copiously that he had to wipe the drool from his lips. When Lucius was done, Domitian told him to get rid of the core by tossing it to the garden below. Lucius stepped onto the balcony. He dropped the apple core and watched it fall a great distance. Looking down made Lucius dizzy. The apple core struck and bounced off a large sundial in the garden below. The dial was an iron triangle set in a round stone pedestal. The day was too overcast for the dial to cast a shadow.
Lucius turned and looked at the water clock on the dais. The hour was almost done.
Domitian continued to fidget. He tugged at his chin and cracked his knuckles. He picked at the wart on his forehead. Suddenly, blood appeared on fingers. He gave a cry of alarm, then realized that it came from the wart. “Minerva, let this be the only blood I spill today!”
His cry brought a knock at the door. “Dominus, is something wrong?”
“Never mind, Parthenius,” called Domitian. “All’s well. But look, the clock has reached the sixth hour! It’s done! The hour has passed, and no harm came to me. Unlock the door and let him in, Catullus.”
The chamberlain Parthenius entered the room. Behind him, in chains and flanked by guards, was the German soothsayer, Eberwig.
“What do you say now, soothsayer?” demanded Domitian.
Eberwig muttered something, but there was no one present to translate. The guards pulled him to his knees.
“Strangle the fool,” said Domitian.