Paul Doherty - Domina

‘But you are in the amphitheatre,’ I insisted. ‘Your enemies are helmeted and masked. They carry swords and shields. Blood, sometimes, is not thicker than water.’

‘You’re wrong!’ she replied hoarsely. ‘Many years ago I was friendly with Volusus, a Thracian gladiator, one of the best. He fought like a dancer, shifting this way and that, flitting like a shadow around his opponents. One day I went to see him fight. There were four pairs to start with; eventually only one remained. The crowd tensed with anticipation. The combat had lasted for hours and it was now late afternoon. You could taste the blood in the air. People were so excited that a number collapsed from sunstroke, refusing to leave their seats and seek shelter. Volusus had fought like one possessed. You know the way of such events? A gladiator kills his opponent, then searches for another. I’d noticed, and so had the crowd, that Volusus had deliberately avoided a certain fighter. I was intrigued. The remaining gladiator was a mere neophyte, a Dacian with only two or three victories to his name. Volusus was of the same nationality.’ She plucked at the grapes. ‘The Dacian was a retiarius, a net man, who had won his fights more by luck than skill. He came in stumbling. Volusus danced away. Time and again the net was cast only to miss. The crowd turned ugly. Volusus could have finished him off, you could see that. People were becoming impatient. They wanted an end, to stream out to the taverns and discuss the day’s events.’ She paused and watched a butterfly gently hover on the early afternoon breeze. ‘That’s what Volusus was,’ she declared. ‘A butterfly, floating in the arena. He was like a dream walker. The retiarius was exhausted. He made a final cast, stumbled and the net flew out of his hands. He lunged, but Volusus blocked the blow and sent the trident whirling out of his hand.’ Agrippina stretched out her arm, thumb extended. ‘“ Hoc Habet, Hoc Habet !” the crowd roared. “Let him have it, let him have it!”.’ She paused.

‘And?’

‘Volusus didn’t give the death blow. He just threw his shield and sword down and walked away. He was the darling of the mob but you know what they are like when the blood lust is up? “ Hoc Habet! Hoc Habet !” came the roar, but they weren’t shouting for the Dacian’s death now: that little bastard had recovered himself. He picked up his trident and ran towards Volusus who turned, defenceless. He didn’t stop his opponent driving the barbed blade into his throat, and in a few minutes he was dead, blood pouring out of the wound. The crowd was hostile but the Dacian had won. He was given the laurels of the games. Afterwards I made enquiries and discovered that Volusus and the Dacian had once been lovers.’ Agrippina got to her feet. ‘I don’t need to tell you the moral of the tale, Parmenon. I can sympathise with Volusus.’

She slipped her feet into her sandals and picked up the empty wine goblet. ‘The day is drawing on,’ she murmured. ‘I must see what those lazy workmen are doing!’

Agrippina’s story about Volusus haunted me for the rest of that week. Nero might be Emperor of Rome but she had him in her power. She could, if she wished, strike hard and deep but she had lost the will. Perhaps something in that tangled mind of hers had cried ‘Enough!’.

The subject of a possible rapprochement with Nero dominated the conversation of the household. Agrippina, the consummate actress, played along with them. Members of Nero’s entourage visited the villa bringing tokens and gifts, which Agrippina seized eagerly, listening attentively to the news of her son. But, after that conversation with her in the garden, I saw it all through different eyes.

There was also talk of a great banquet. I wondered if the monster was preparing something spectacular: he was so good at hosting parties. On one notorious occasion, the guests were invited into a triclinium painted completely black. The walls, the floors, the ceiling, the tables, even the glass and silverware, were all as black as night. The chairs and couches were carved in the form of funeral slabs lit by those little lamps you see hanging above a tomb. Every dish, somehow or other, was tinted black. Negro boys, naked as they were born, served the meals. You can imagine the terror of the guests, who had been promised a supper party to remember. But Nero let them all return home unscathed. From what I could gather most of them were in a state of near collapse but he had kept his promise; they would never forget that supper party for as long as they lived!

Such horror stories, coupled with Agrippina’s fears, alarmed me. One morning, as she swam in the villa’s pool, I stood on the edge watching her beautiful body streak through the water, her skill and speed reminding me of a dolphin. I was giving her my usual lecture on the need for prudence.

‘You should come in!’ Agrippina called out, ignoring all my pleas for caution with her son. She stood naked on the far side of the pool, the water pouring off her.

‘I prefer watching you,’ I called.

‘A legacy from Caligula,’ she shouted. ‘When you are exiled to an island, the only way to get off is to swim around it.’

Callienus appeared. He had been ill with a fever. He sat on a stone seat, cradling a cup in his hands and stared mournfully at his mistress.

‘Don’t drink too much!’ Agrippina called. ‘You’ve got duties tonight.’

She winked at me and disappeared again beneath the water.

‘I’ll drink what I bloody well want!’ Callienus growled.

I ignored him. He was a good-looking Greek actor, but his pretty face was always spoilt by a scowl. Agrippina left the pool. She dried off and quickly dressed. Acerronia came out, complaining about the workmen. Agrippina, drying her hair, half-listened, more interested in finding out what we were eating that night.

‘Piglet cooked in honey,’ Acerronia replied. ‘I’ve found some quite old Falernian in your cellars.’ She stomped off.

‘Isn’t it strange?’ Agrippina mused.

‘What is?’

I had come round the pool, but Callienus had slunk away. Agrippina was always lecturing him about how much he drank.

‘I’d forgotten about that wine. I bought it from a vineyard owner who used to live nearby. He was a strange man, who kept lambs in his house.’

‘When did you buy the wine?’ I asked.

‘Ah, it was when I was courting Claudius. We came here for one of our pleasant little weekends. He did like his wine.’ She grinned. ‘Almost as much as mushrooms!’

Now, I don’t believe in portents but at that moment something strange happened. An owl flew across the garden chased by other birds. I shivered and touched the tip of my penis for luck. Agrippina watched the harassed bird seek shelter in a line of trees.

‘Approaching death,’ she remarked. ‘Isn’t an owl in daylight a harbinger of impending doom?’

It was as if the sun had slipped behind a cloud. Looking back, of course, I realise that owl was no natural occurrence: one of Nero’s spies must have been nearby with the poor bird in a cage, and released it at that moment. I joked and tried to pass it off but Agrippina remained tense and watchful.

The incident marred the atmosphere at supper. Agrippina drank too much and indulged in a heated argument with Callienus. There was nothing that little bum boy liked more than flouncing off and he did so now in style.

‘Let him go.’ Agrippina made a gesture. ‘I’m tired of his scowling face. Now, let me tell you about Tiberius. Do you know he used to swim on Capri with little boys who had been trained to nibble at him from under water?’

Acerronia burst out laughing. Agrippina ordered the lights to be doused. As the servants had been dismissed, I was engaged in this task when I heard a terrible crash.