Paul Doherty - Domina

Agrippina disagreed. She opened a leather bag and emptied three silver-embossed daggers out on the table.

‘It will be done publicly enough,’ she continued. ‘And I will take responsibility.’

Agrippina had assumed the role of the democrat eager to save the republic from a tyrant. She laughed as if aware of her theatricality and looked at us from under dark, arched eyebrows.

‘Who will strike the blow?’

‘I will not,’ I replied, getting to my feet. ‘Nor will I take the oath.’

‘Why not?’ Agrippina asked.

I left and walked into the coolness of the garden. The murmur of voices rose from behind me, the sound of a door being firmly closed. I was in a sulk. I hoped Agrippina would have followed me out but I was left to kick my heels.

At least an hour passed before she joined me. ‘The others claim you can’t be trusted,’ she said, sitting down beside me.

‘Well, say that I don’t trust them.’

‘What do you mean?’

Agrippina slipped her arm through mine and pulled herself closer. I smelt her delicious perfume, or was it a soap she used after bathing? Light, fragrant but still cloying to the nostrils.

‘Oh, I trust them, I suppose,’ I confessed. ‘But I don’t trust Caligula. He let you come here. He may be mad as the moon but he must suspect: someone in this villa is his spy.’

Agrippina refused to agree. Two days later Caligula arrived in a gorgeously decorated chariot pulled by four beautiful bays, their manes starred with special gems, breast-plates covered in sacred amulets. He had changed his role, now he saw himself as Charioteer of the Gods. Caligula himself stood upright like a victor about to prepare to receive the palm, helmet on his head, whip in hand, leggings of gold and red covering calf and thigh.

Of course, we all had to watch him drive up and down the gardens of the villa, creating chaos every time he turned. Lawns and flowerbeds disappeared, small, delicate walls were sent crashing under the spinning wheels. A group of Praetorians accompanied him and, of course, Castor and Pollux, his two German shadows. Caligula was frenetic with excitement. After a while he tired of the game, climbed down from the chariot, undressed in front of us and charged into the villa demanding a bath, his tunic and toga.

Agrippina entertained him late that evening. She tried to hide her own unease behind the pretence of a lavish banquet: hens made of wood containing eggs were brought in on platters, dormice rolled in honey and poppy seeds; hot sausages mixed with grilled damsons and seeds of pomegranate; wild pig, boiled carp and large jars of heavy Falernian. Caligula refused to eat unless Castor or Pollux tasted the dish first, whether it was a huge lobster, garnished with asparagus, or lampreys from the straits of Sicily. He even poked his dagger at the truffles and delicious mushrooms. After a while he threw the dagger onto the table and gazed around.

‘I’m off to Germany,’ he declared, and paused, head cocked to one side. At first I thought he was in one of his mad trances till I heard the clink of metal and the tramp of feet. I sprang to my feet, looked through a window and glimpsed pinpricks of torchlight: fresh troops were arriving. More torches appeared, and from outside came the sound of running feet. I heard a scream from the kitchen.

‘I thought I’d supply the entertainment.’

Caligula swung his feet off the couch and stared evilly at his sister. Agrippina kept her poise. I felt my arm grasped. Castor had crept, as quiet as a cat, up beside me. He grunted and gestured with his hand that I re-take my seat.

‘I’m off to Germany,’ Caligula repeated, ‘but, before I go, I must deal with traitors. Right, Progeones, tell your story!’

Our horrid little gargoyle sprang to his feet. Like an actor who has scrupulously learnt his lines, he confessed everything. Agrippina sat white-faced. Lepidus tried to rise but one of the German bodyguard thrust him down. In the darkness behind the Emperor I heard a door open and the hiss of drawn swords as more of his bodyguard arrived. Once Progeones had finished, Caligula clapped, at first softly then louder and louder.

‘That’s the first part of the entertainment!’ Seneca began to cough, spluttering over something he had eaten.

‘Don’t spoil the entertainment!’ Caligula shouted. ‘Take the old fool away!’

Seneca was hustled out.

‘Don’t kill him!’ Caligula shouted over his shoulder. ‘I want to watch our philosopher die! See if he accepts death with the same equanimity as he faced life. Lepidus.’ Caligula looked back at his guests. ‘Lepidus,’ he cooed.

The senator was seized and brought before the Emperor. Caligula swung his foot and cleared the table with his boot, sending dishes, cups and platters flying. Lepidus was forced to sit on the edge, with Castor and Pollux on either side. Caligula picked up a fork that had been used for the sucking pig. With one swift jab, he expertly dug out Lepidus’s right eye. The man screamed and tried to rise but the guards held him fast.

‘Do you see more clearly now?’ Caligula leaned forward. ‘You were married to my sister! You shared my bed! Garrotte him!’

Castor slipped the noose over Lepidus’s shaking head. He took a small tube out of his belt and expertly turned it. We all had to sit and watch whilst Lepidus died with terrible, choking gasps. Occasionally, Caligula asked the German to stop so he could give the half-dead man a stern lecture on morality. The torture continued. A full nightmarish hour passed before Lepidus’s corpse was allowed to fall slack onto the floor. His face had turned purple-black, and blood seeped from the hole where his eye had been.

Caligula raced round, shaking his fingers at the guests. He gestured with his fist at Afer the orator.

‘You should have known better! You are going to answer for your treason in the Senate!’

Others were present, bankers and merchants who had been on the fringe of the conspiracy. The guests also included some innocent neighbours from surrounding villas. Caligula showed no mercy. One by one they were taken out to the garden and despatched by the waiting soldiers. Some were decapitated — Caligula shouting that one man’s head should be pickled and brought back immediately — others were strangled, and a few shackled and bundled into a cart for transport back to Rome.

Agrippina sat throughout the horror as immobile as a statue. Caligula turned on me and clicked his tongue, imitating Sejanus.

‘I’ll deal with you personally, Parmenon.’

He rose, gave Lepidus’s corpse a vicious kick and led me out through the colonnades into the garden. That place of beautiful serenity had been transformed into a flesher’s yard. Corpses lay about. A decapitated head had rolled to rest behind a seat. Pools of sticky blood glistened in the moonlight. Caligula ignored all this as, hand on my shoulder, he went across to sniff at a rosebud.

‘Beautiful,’ he murmured, closing his eyes. ‘Such smells always takes me back to Capri and the old goat. Well, well, Parmenon, what a pretty mess, eh? What shall it be for you? Crucifixion? The garrotte? Or shall I stick your head on a pike?’

His face was solemn till he burst out laughing and punched me playfully in the stomach.

‘I’m only joking,’ he declared. ‘You knew my spy was Progeones, didn’t you?’

I nodded.

‘And if he hadn’t told me, you would have, wouldn’t you?’

‘Yes,’ I lied.

‘I can’t kill you, Parmenon. You’re my lucky mascot. But what — ’ his face turned ugly ‘- am I to do with that bitch of a sister?’

‘Your Excellency.’ I swallowed hard to prepare the biggest lie in my life. ‘Your Excellency, it’s true she’s a dangerous bitch but. . she is your sister and that of Drusilla.’