Paul Doherty - Domina

‘He might be caught?’

‘Caught? Someone else will take the blame.’

‘I thought Tiberius took antidotes to all poisons?’

‘He does. He’s a regular medicine chest. You’ve heard the phrase, “creaking doors hang longer”. Tiberius has so many ailments he doesn’t really know what’s happening.’ She stepped closer. ‘Aconite, if fed long enough, will overcome any antidote. Gaius has simply increased the usual dosage.’

‘And why now?’ I asked, looking furtively over my shoulder.

‘Oh, don’t be so nervous, Parmenon. Macro knows everything, and this garden is guarded by his best men.’

‘Why now?’ I repeated.

Her face became grave. ‘If Tiberius lives, Parmenon, he’ll take all our necks. Can’t you see that? In the years that have passed since Sejanus’s death, Tiberius has started to reflect and regret, wondering whether Macro was part of a more sinister plot. With my mother and two of my brothers dead only my two sisters and I are left, apart from Gaius. Tiberius might decide to make a clean sweep.’

She plucked a parchment from beneath her robe and handed it to me. I undid it carefully: the writing was scrawled like that of a child.

‘Tiberius was never good with a pen,’ Agrippina declared.

The very first word chilled me: Proscripti — the Proscribed. Tiberius spent his time drawing up lists of those he would like to see strangled. The ink on this list was faded.

‘It was written some months ago,’ Agrippina explained.

The list was long. Some of the men and women on it had already died. After a gap, some new names appeared: Agrippina, her two sisters, Drusilla and Julia, Macro, and Parmenon. I thrust the parchment back.

‘When do I leave?’ I demanded.

‘As soon as possible. At the moment Tiberius is in Campania, roaming up and down the countryside, too frightened to enter Rome, but he intends to sail for Capri very soon. Once he gets back there, he’ll return to his death lists. Macro has prepared well for this. He’s already been in touch with the generals on the frontiers and their loyalty is assured.’

She went and sat on the seat, crossed her legs and leaned back, eyes half closed, gently rubbing her stomach.

‘Tiberius must not return to Capri. He already thinks he’s going to die, he’s been having visions. A new statue of Apollo, which is to be erected in the Senate library, apparently appeared to him in a dream and said: “Tiberius, you will never dedicate me.” There have been fires that are suddenly extinguished or abruptly flare up. Tiberius’s pet snake, which he fed with his own hands and was the only creature which would come anywhere near him, abruptly died and was eaten by a swarm of ants.’ She leaned forward. ‘Caligula would have enjoyed arranging that. I must ask him how he did it. Tiberius is agitated; he left Capri and came up the Tiber in a trireme, posting troops along both banks so that no one could see him. He’s presently at Misenum: Caligula and Macro are there with him.’

‘What am I to do?’

‘Make sure that Tiberius does die,’ she whispered. ‘And when he does, return immediately to Rome.’

I reached Misenum late the following evening, and it was apparent how grave matters had become. Cavalry units and squads of Praetorians patrolled every path to and from the imperial villa. The house itself was like a mausoleum with everyone tiptoeing around. Macro and Caligula met me in the gardens. The soldier was the same as ever, cynical and mocking, but Caligula had changed. He was now taller, but more stooped, his head balding, his eyes deep-set, a cynical sneer twisted the cruel mouth, and his arms were covered in thick, black hair. He reminded me of an ape I’d once seen in the arena. He was drinking deeply and couldn’t sit still, walking up and down the path, staring up at the dark-blue sky. Occasionally, he’d turn away, muttering and talking to someone we couldn’t see.

‘What’s the matter with him?’ I whispered.

Macro put a finger to his lips and led me away.

‘He’s talking to his Daemon, which you must never ask him about. He’s drunk, tired and agitated. He still believes Tiberius will order his execution!’

‘What’s that? What’s that?’ Caligula came striding back up the path. ‘I want to go to Rome, Macro!’

‘Very soon, Excellency.’

‘I want to see my sister, Drusilla. Have you seen Drusilla, Parmenon?’ Tears glistened in his eyes. ‘She’s beautiful. She’s got breasts.’ He pointed to a statue of Venus. ‘And her bottom; I always said she had the sweetest bottom in Rome. Have you seen her, Parmenon? I am going to make her Empress.’

I had seen Drusilla on one occasion, a lithe, olive-skinned girl. I’d also heard rumours of how Caligula’s aunt had found brother and sister in bed together.

‘You can’t have ever seen my sister,’ Caligula continued, tapping me on the shoulder. ‘If you had, you would be full of her praises.’ He slurped from the wine cup. ‘So, when is the old goat going to die, Macro? And why are you here, Parmenon?’

He turned away and talked over his shoulder. ‘Where’s Gemellus?’

‘Your Excellency,’ Macro soothed. ‘Parmenon brings messages from your sister Agrippina.’

‘Oh, the sly one, the sly one!’ Caligula’s fingers went to his mouth, deep in thought.

Darkness was falling. The breeze from the sea had turned cold. It brought a smell of olives, figs and salt. The sky was filling with cloud, dark blotches hiding the stars. The trees rustled and shook. I felt frightened. This truly was a place of demons. I wished I was back in Rome.

Caligula took a deep breath.

‘It’s good to see you, Parmenon.’ His tone had changed. He linked his arm through mine as if we were the best of friends. ‘Have you ever been to Misenum before? You should come more often: the mussels are marvellous. You are going to have supper with us, aren’t you? The old goat thinks if he keeps eating he’ll keep living.’ He sniggered beneath his breath, stopped and looked at my head. ‘You’ve got a full head of hair, Parmenon. Isn’t it a pity we can’t exchange heads?’

His face came forward as if expecting an answer. Agrippina had told me to take care over this, never to stare at Caligula’s hair or mention his increasing baldness. He tapped his forehead.

‘A wasted dome,’ he muttered. ‘Isn’t it, Parmenon?’

I looked over his shoulder. Macro’s eyes were watchful.

‘Excellency,’ I replied. ‘You have the face and head of an Emperor. You have the face and head of a God. You are not like us mere mortals.’

Caligula threw his head back in a raucous laugh. He seized my face between his hands and kissed me full on the lips. ‘When you first came to Capri, Parmenon, I knew you were touched. He has visions, Macro! I’ll never forget what you said.’

Then the lunatic was off, striding up the path, arms swinging, chuckling loudly to himself.

By the time the guards allowed us into the Emperor’s supper room, Caligula was transformed, quietly composed. Macro introduced me but all I could see was a figure sitting in the darkness.

‘Come here!’ The voice was full and strong.

I stepped into the pool of light before the couch and dropped quickly to my knees.

‘Who are you? Look at me!’

Tiberius’s face was ghastly: it was a dirty white, with the lines round his mouth more pronounced and the cheeks sunken. The sores had got worse, so that now it was a suppurating mess, from which the slanted eyes gleamed frenetically. I didn’t know whether it was due to the fever, the poison or the light from the oil lamps. Tiberius scratched one of the ulcers on his face and touched my cheek.

‘Parmenon! Have you brought news?’