“A republic under the Senate and the Consuls doesn’t mean democratic freedom, but is rule by aristocracy,” I said. “Plundering of the provinces and new civil wars, that much do I understand from the history I have read. Be content with reforming Rome from within with Greek culture and don’t talk nonsense.”
Lucius was forced to laugh.
“It’s strange that one has absorbed the ideals of republicanism with one’s mother’s milk,” he said. “It makes me hotheaded. But perhaps the republic is nothing but a relic of the past. I’m going back to my books. Then I can do no harm to anyone, not even to myself.”
“And Rome can remain full of carrion flies,” I conceded. “Neither you nor I can get rid of them.”
The most surprising honor which came my way as I lay tormented by my inactivity and my gloomy thoughts was a visit from the leader of the noble boys, the ten-year-old Lucius Domitius. He came with his mother, Agrippina, quite unpretentiously and without prior notice. They left their sedan and following outside the house and only came in for a brief moment to commiserate with me over my accident. Bar-bus, who during my illness was acting as doorkeeper to the household, was of course drunk and asleep. Domitius jokingly gave him a light punch on the forehead and shouted out an order, at which Barbus, dazed with sleep, sprang to attention, raised his hand in salute and barked, “Ave, Caesar imperator.”
Agrippina asked him why he greeted the boy as an Emperor. Barbus said that he had dreamt that a centurion had hit him on the head with his stave. When he had opened his eyes he had seen in front of him, in the midday sun, a huge celestial Juno and an Emperor in glittering armor inspecting their troops. Not until they had spoken to him had his sight cleared and he had recognized Domitius and guessed that Agrippina was his mother by her goddesslike beauty and stature.
“And I wasn’t far wrong,” he said flatteringly. “You are sister to Emperor Gaius and Emperor Claudius is your uncle. On the god Julius Caesar’s side you are descended from Venus and on Marcus Antonius’ side from Hercules. So it’s not all that strange that I greeted your son with the highest possible token of honor.”
Aunt Laelia was completely confused by such a grand visitation and ran around with her wig askew, straightening out my bedclothes and chattering reproachfully that Agrippina should have informed us beforehand of her arrival so that the household could have been prepared.
“You know very well, dear Laelia,” said Agrippina sadly, “that it’s safest for me to avoid official visits since the death of my sister. But my son had to come and see his hero Minutus Lausus. So we looked in to wish him a quick recovery.”
This lively, attractive and, despite his red hair, handsome boy hurried shyly up to give me a kiss and then drew back in admiration as he looked at my face.
“Oh, Minutus,” he cried. “You have indeed earned the name Magnus more than any other. If only you knew how I admired your amazing courage. None of the spectators had the slightest idea that you’d broken your leg when you remained in the saddle right to the end.”
Domitius took a scroll from his mother and handed it to me. Agrippina turned to Aunt Laelia apologetically.
“It’s a book on balance of mind,” she explained, “which my friend Seneca has written in Corsica. It’s a good book for a youngster who is suffering from the consequences of his own foolhardiness. If he at the same time should wonder why such a noble-minded man must spend his life buried alive in exile, then it is because of the present situation in Rome and not because of me.”
But Aunt Laelia did not have the patience to listen. She was much too taken up with offering some kind of refreshment. It would have been a matter of shame if such distinguished guests had left without partaking of anything.
Agrippina protested but finally said, “In your house, we should be glad to taste a little of that refreshing lemon drink which your brave invalid has in a jug by his bed. My son can share one of the buns.”
Aunt Laelia stared at her with wide-open eyes.
“Dearest Agrippina,” she said in horror, “have things already reached such lengths?”
Agrippina was then thirty-four years old. She was a statuesque woman, her features aristocratic if also expressionless, and her eyes were large and brilliant. To my horror, I saw those clear eyes fill with tears. She lowered her head and wept silently.
“You guess correctly, Laelia,” she said at last. “It is safest for me to fetch water from the pipe with my own hands for my son, and for me to choose from the market what I dare eat myself and let him eat. The people cheered him too openly at the festivities. Three days ago someone tried to kill him at his midday siesta. I no longer even trust the servants. It was strange that none of them was near and that a complete stranger with evil intentions could get into the house without any of them seeing him. So it occurred to me-but perhaps it’s best to say nothing.”
Naturally Aunt Laelia was curious, which had perhaps been the intention all along, and she began to question Agrippina about what it was that had occurred to her.
“I thought that Lucius needed the constant companionship,” she said after a moment’s hesitation, “of a few young noblemen whose loyalty I could rely on and who at the same time would set him a good example. But no, no, it would only bring them misfortune. They would be jeopardizing their futures.”
Aunt Laelia was not very pleased with this suggestion and I was not really sure enough of myself to dare think that Agrippina meant me.
But Lucius put his hand shyly on mine and cried, “If you, Minutus, were by my side, I’d never be afraid of anything or anyone.”
Aunt Laelia began to stammer that it could be misunderstood if Lucius Domitius began to gather a following of nobles around his person.
“I can already walk a little on crutches,” I said quickly. “Soon my thigh will have healed. Perhaps I’ll be lame for life, but if it doesn’t make me look foolish, I’d be glad to be Lucius’ companion and protect him until he’s old enough to look after himself. That won’t be very long. You are already big for your age and you can ride and use weapons.”
To be quite honest, he looked more girlish than manly, with his graceful movements and his elaborate hair style. This impression was strengthened even more by the milk-white complexion that redheads usually have. But I remembered he was only ten and yet could ride a horse and drive a chariot at displays. A boy like that could not be completely childish.
We talked for a little while longer, about horses and Greek poets and singers he seemed to admire, but we came to no particular decision. I realized that I should be welcome at Agrippina’s house at any time. They left and Agrippina asked her purse-bearer to give Barbus a gold coin.
“She’s very lonely,” explained Aunt Laelia afterwards. “Her noble birth keeps her apart from other people and her equals daren’t be seen with her for fear of incurring the Emperor’s displeasure. It’s sad to see such an exalted woman turning to a lame young nobleman for friendship.”
I was not hurt by her words, for I had myself wondered the same thing.
“Is she really afraid of being poisoned?” I asked carefully.
Aunt Laelia snorted.
“She makes too much of things,” she said. “No one is murdered in broad daylight in an inhabited house in the middle of Rome. The story sounded invented to me. You’d better not get mixed up in that sort of thing. It is true that Emperor Gaius, the dear boy, had a chest full of poisons with which he experimented. But Emperor Claudius had it destroyed and poisoners are always severely punished. You know, I suppose, that Agrippina’s husband, Lucius’ father Domitius, was a brother of Domitia Lepida, Messalina’s mother? When Lucius was three, he inherited everything from him, but Gaius kept it all. Agrippina was exiled and to survive she had to learn to dive for sponges on an island far away. Lucius was cared for by his aunt, Domitia. The hairdresser, Anicetus, was his tutor as you can still see from his hair. But now Domitia Lepida has quarreled with her daughter Messalina, and is one of the few who dare to be seen openly with Agrippina and spoil Lucius. Messalina uses the name of her grandfather, Valerius Messala, to show she is directly descended from the god Augustus. The mother is angry with her because she all too openly shows her affection for Gaius Silius, goes with him everywhere, is as at home in his house and with his freedmen and slaves as she is at her own, and has even taken valuable inherited furniture there from Palatine. On the other hand, it is all very natural, for Silius is the handsomest man in Rome. It could even all be quite innocent, as it’s all so open. A young woman can’t be forever in the company of a bad-tempered old drunkard. Claudius inevitably neglects her because of his official duties and in his spare time he prefers to play dice to going to the theater. He prefers to go to the amphitheater too, to see the wild animals tearing criminals to pieces, and that’s not very suitable for a refined young woman to watch.”