The muscled, effeminate freedman fell to his knees and with practised skill very quickly coaxed an erection from his patron. Nero gazed down at it with love. ‘Oh that it were not mine but belonged to another so that I could possess such beauty.’
Titus struggled but Vespasian held on to his son as Doryphorus licked Britannicus’ anus, moistening it, before Nero, with surprising tenderness, eased his way in to him; Britannicus made no sound.
All in the room not involved stood and watched the act, transfixed, their faces registering horror as Nero raped his stepbrother with growing rhythm and delight; the rightful heir to Augustus’ line pounded in public as if he were no more than a dockside whore-boy earning a sesterces. Tigellinus slathered as he held the boy down, staring into his face, and occasionally looking up at Nero and grinning maniacally with sadistic pleasure.
With no more than a grunt and a slight shudder, Nero came to a climax and then sighed deep with contentment. Pulling himself free of Britannicus and slapping a buttock at the same time, he looked around the room, beaming. ‘That’s how to treat a boy. Let’s eat.’
Nero licked his fingers and then looked at Pallas, frowning, as if recollecting a dim memory. ‘Of course! I was in the process of punishing you for fucking Mother.’ He took another quail from the platter before him and pulled a leg free. He turned to Seneca, reclining to his right on the couch. ‘You claim to have an eye for appropriate justice — what do you think his punishment should be?’
Seneca cleared his throat and wiped his lips to give himself a few moments’ thinking time. ‘Princeps, in our long hours of study together over the years I have tried to steer you on the path of justice rather than er … shall we say chaos? Yes, chaos will do admirably. We cannot have chaos, and chaos comes from injustice. Pallas here has served both you and your father well, for that he deserves reward. However, he has also, how should I put it? Compromised, that’s it, compromised himself with your mother, and for that he deserves punishment. So from those two conflicting outcomes how can we find justice?’
As Seneca expanded on his theme, Vespasian marvelled that Nero seemed to be listening enrapt rather than struggling to remain focused like the rest of Seneca’s audience. Only Pallas, next to him, remained fixed on the discourse as his life was weighed and fate decided. His face remained outwardly placid but the slightest rubbing of his index finger on his cup betrayed a deep anxiety in one normally so at ease.
Caratacus, to Vespasian’s other side, sipped his wine, paying no attention to the speech, while Titus and Britannicus both ate methodically and without enjoyment as if just marking time until the whole ordeal was over. Agrippina smouldered on Nero’s left, shooting venomous looks at the speaker.
‘And so, bearing in mind all of these arguments,’ Seneca carried on, drawing to a conclusion, ‘including the fact that it was Pallas himself who recommended Narcissus’ death in similar circumstances, I suggest, Princeps, that you show a degree of mercy; banish him, put him-’
‘I decide the sentence,’ Nero snapped, raising his finger in warning at Seneca. ‘If I agree with the argument.’ Now he went right back to the posing that had seemed to have been forgotten as he had allowed the innate violence within him to run free. After much imitation of a man deep in thought he resurfaced. ‘I shall be merciful, Pallas.’
Vespasian felt the Greek relax; his index finger stilled.
‘You are banished from Rome but may live on one of your estates close to the city. You may keep your wealth as a reward for your good service to my father but should I need money you will always lend it to me, interest free. However, as punishment for your crimes with my mother you shall play host to her for half of every month. In other words for half the year she shall not be with me, annoying me, but with you.’
Vespasian choked back an involuntary guffaw at the mad logic of the sentence as Pallas got to his feet.
‘Princeps, you are just and merciful and I submit to your will.’ With a bow to Nero while completely ignoring Agrippina, who was still staring at her son in horror, Pallas left the room, his career in Rome over.
Nero brightened as the Greek’s footsteps receded. ‘Now, where were we? Ah yes, celebrating my brother’s coming of age. We shall have a toast; charge our cups!’
Female slaves who had been waiting in the shadows busied themselves making sure that each of the guests had sufficient before retreating back whence they came.
‘To my brother’s birthday tomorrow!’ Nero shouted, before draining his wine.
All the guests followed his example with varying degrees of enthusiasm. Britannicus, his eyes glazed with remembrance of public buggery, took no more than a mouthful.
But that was enough to make Nero smile as the boy swallowed. ‘Which he will never see,’ he added, watching Britannicus intently.
Vespasian’s innards lurched and he looked at Britannicus who broke into a cold smile of acceptance as he threw another gulp down his gullet, his eyes fixed on Nero, defiance and hatred in them. Behind him a slave woman was staring with the same intensity as she had stared at Claudius while he died; the woman was rewarded by a sudden spasm. Titus grabbed Britannicus’ cup from his hand as the spasm repeated, confused by what was happening to his friend who now struggled but failed to draw breath; a rattle emanated from his constricted throat. Titus gaped at him, his face tensed in horror as realisation dawned. Five, ten, fifteen heartbeats the ghastly agony continued as Britannicus’ eyes bulged and his lips blued, twitching as they struggled to form a word; his hand grasped Titus’ wrist and pushed the poisoned cup up towards his mouth. His lips resolved into a final, twisted smile.
Once more for Vespasian, time’s chariot slowed and he felt himself rising as he watched Britannicus slump slowly back, his hand releasing its grip. His heart pounded slow and bass in his ears as Titus stared at the contents of the cup, registering just what it was; he looked down at his friend’s lifeless eyes, fixed upon him, before casting Nero a glare of unvarnished loathing. Vespasian screamed, inchoate, as he tried to fly across the room, watching Titus’ hand rise even further and the cup slowly approaching his lips. He could see it tilt and the wine within it touch the rim as Titus’ mouth opened. The cup rested on his lower lip and the poison began to flow onto his tongue; Vespasian was sure that he saw his son’s throat contract with a swallow as his right hand smashed the cup away from Titus’ mouth and time cranked back up to her unrelenting speed almost in mockery of how long Titus had to live.
‘An antidote!’ Vespasian screamed at the slave woman, vaguely aware of laughter behind him. ‘What is the antidote, woman?’ He grabbed Titus, who was staring down into the pained and dead eyes of Britannicus.
The woman stood motionless, looking towards Nero.
‘Two for the price of one, Locusta,’ Nero managed to say through his mirth, ‘very good.’
Vespasian screamed again for the antidote as Caratacus grabbed Locusta by the throat and lifted her, shrieking, off her feet; the jug she carried crashed to the ground. ‘Obey me, woman, and nobody else, for it is in my hands that your miserable life lies. The antidote.’
Locusta reached into a bag hanging from her waist and brought out a phial; Caratacus took it and threw her away to land with a cracking of bones on the hard mosaic floor.
Titus spasmed as Vespasian grabbed the antidote, ripping the cork out with his teeth. He slammed his son’s head down onto the still chest of Britannicus and tipped the contents of the phial down his open throat. Once empty he threw it away, pinched Titus’ nose and pressed his mouth shut; there was another spasm but then he swallowed. Vespasian looked into Titus’ eyes willing him to live, as Nero’s laughter still echoed in his ears; no one else made a sound apart from Locusta groaning over a broken arm. Titus’ eyes widened in pain, the pupils so dilated there was no colour in them, just black and white. There was another spasm but weaker this time and his face relaxed.