Paul Doherty - Domina

After the banquet, Caligula insisted on giving us a dance of triumph. I sat at the foot of Agrippina’s couch and watched that madman, dressed like a cadaverous Bacchus, cavort and leap about, whilst we all pretended he was the best dancer and singer in the world, excelling even the most professional artiste from Syracuse. He also sang a coarse song about his uncle, which undoubtedly contained very funny lines, and the wine we’d all drank helped us laugh. I glanced across at Agrippina. My mistress wasn’t amused. Her face looked fuller with more sheen and colour than I’d seen for many a month. She wasn’t looking at Caligula but at Macro, and her eyes had a hard, imperious glare, as if she held the new Praetorian Prefect responsible for this nonsense. Once the Emperor had calmed down, he returned to his feasting, insisting that Drusilla share his couch. Agrippina took me away to the coolness of a cypress grove, where she questioned me closely about Tiberius’s death.

‘And what do you think of our new Emperor, Parmenon?’

She gestured across to where Caligula, now he’d rested, was busy berating the small gaggle of musicians on what tune they should play for his second dance.

‘If the guards see such behaviour,’ I replied. ‘Rome could have three Emperors in one year.’

‘You mean Gemellus?’ she demanded. Agrippina followed my gaze sorrowfully. ‘Tiberius corrupted him but he can be managed, at least for a while.’

‘How?’ I demanded.

‘You’ll see.’ Agrippina was gnawing at her lips and patting her stomach.

‘You are going to have to keep Caligula alive for quite a while, aren’t you?’ I asked.

‘We will have to ensure that no wife ever bears him a child,’ Agrippina acknowledged.

‘And your child?’ I asked.

‘My son,’ she declared haughtily, ‘will one day be Emperor. Remember my words, Parmenon. Now, let’s get my idiot brother off to bed!’

She walked back across the grass and had words with Macro. She urged the almost collapsing Caligula to retire for the night and, half-carrying him, helped by Drusilla, left the party.

Agrippina didn’t reappear that night. The next morning I was in the kitchen, listening to a cook describe how to serve milk-fed snails and what sauce to use for young tunny fish, when Agrippina appeared. She looked pale-faced and red-eyed. She imperiously ordered the cook away and told me to follow her out into the garden. She took me over to a small grotto, a stone arch covered by a rambling rose bush.

‘We leave for Rome this evening. Our Emperor,’ she referred meaningfully to Caligula, ‘has now recovered.’ She looked at me narrow-eyed. ‘He thinks very highly of you, Parmenon, and says he’ll never forget your services. You’re not thinking of changing horses mid-stream, are you?’

I glowered at her.

‘I thought as much.’ She smiled and glanced up. Caligula was walking across the lawn towards us, one arm round Drusilla’s shoulder.

‘Good morning, Parmenon.’ He stopped and stared down at me.

I was dumbfounded. Was this the same Caligula as the night before? The prancing madman? The drunkard pawing at his sister? He was now clean-shaven and clear-eyed. His toga, and the tunic beneath, were spotlessly white. He had sandals, displaying the imperial seal, on his feet, and his hands were scrubbed, with neatly manicured fingernails. Drusilla, on the other hand, despite her olive-skinned beauty, looked as if she hadn’t slept a wink the night before.

‘Well, Parmenon, is that the way to greet your Emperor?’

I slipped to my knees. He patted me on the head.

‘I was only joking. None of that here!’

I re-took my seat, as he hugged Drusilla.

‘We leave for Rome. Have you heard the news?’ He laughed, a short, barking sound unlike his usual high-pitched giggle. ‘The mob are mad with delight. Crowds roam the streets shouting, “Tiberius for the Tiber! Tiberius for the Tiber!” I think it’s best if we burnt the raddled goat’s corpse here and take the ashes to Augustus’s mausoleum.’

He continued with other plans. I was astonished. Caligula spoke lucidly, clearly mapping out the days ahead, and the changes he would bring about in Rome. He deeply regretted that he had not immediately issued pardons: Tiberius’s victims were still being strangled in the prisons of Rome. He said he wished to send envoys to Parthia to seek assurances that Rome’s borders would be secure. He declared sorrowfully that one of his first duties must be to recover the ashes of his mother and two brothers and give them honourable burial in Rome. Satisfied at his plans, Caligula nodded cheerfully at me and Agrippina and walked back across the grass.

‘He’s sleeping with her, isn’t he?’

‘I didn’t hear that!’ Agrippina sat as immobile as a statue.

‘Domina,’ I replied. ‘If you don’t hear it from me, you’ll hear it from others. The Emperor is sleeping with his own sister. Is that the price you paid?’

‘I had no choice,’ Agrippina replied softly. ‘He needs Drusilla.’ She glanced at me. ‘We are all demons, Parmenon. And can you blame us, brought up in the shadow of Tiberius’s bloody hand? You never met Livia, Tiberius’s mother! One day with her would chill your soul.’

‘Did you encourage him?’ I asked.

‘Encourage him! Encourage him!’ She glared at me. ‘Do you think I like this, Parmenon?’ she whispered. ‘Did I ask to be born into the purple? Did I ask to be raised by someone like Livia? To depend, for every breath of my life, on men like Tiberius and Sejanus? To be given to that drunken oaf Domitius in marriage! To be terrified,’ — she touched her belly — ‘of becoming pregnant lest a demon like Tiberius whip the child away from me! To have a brother like Caligula? To have my mother starved to death, and my brother reduced to eating the straw out of his mattress?’ She sprang to her feet, rubbing her arms as if cold. ‘Caligula has been sleeping with Drusilla since they were children. They used to clutch each other at night like terrified little rabbits. I tried to stop them, and so did my aunt. Mother suspected but. .’ She shook her head. ‘If Drusilla can keep him sane, then let him have what he wants. After all, the Pharaohs of Egypt married their half-sisters.’ She glanced over her shoulder at me. ‘Anyway, what do you advise, Parmenon?’ she asked sardonically. ‘That I give him a lecture on morality? Find him a new wife? What?’ She stamped her foot. ‘What can I do? Separate them? Caligula would take my head. What have you become, Parmenon? A stoic? A philosopher? Weren’t you there when Tiberius died?’

She held out her hand which I grasped. She squeezed mine and let go.

‘Who advises him?’ I asked.

‘Macro and myself.’

‘And Drusilla?’

‘Drusilla has a pretty face and an empty head. She’s as vacuous as she’s beautiful.’

‘Are you giving Caligula drugs?’ I asked.

‘You know I am: valerian seed to soothe the nerves and help him sleep.’

I stared across the garden. The morning mist was lifting. I heard the clink of metal, the rumble of carts as they were brought out onto the cobbles for the luggage to be stowed. I felt sorry for attacking Agrippina. The imperial court was not a place for morality, just for power and survival.

‘If the Senate find out,’ I replied slowly, ‘the Emperor’s relationship with his sister could be fanned into a scandal by that gaggle of hypocrites in Rome. They’ll start accusing him of being degenerate. He has the blood of Mark Anthony in him. They’ll gossip about his ancestor’s love for Egyptian ways. .’

‘So?’ Agrippina demanded.

‘If he is to honour one sister,’ I continued, ‘then let him publicly honour all three.’ I laughed. ‘You’d like that anyway. Let there be no distinction between his love for all his sisters. It will cloud people’s minds, blunt suspicion.’