Paul Doherty - Domina

‘Others,’ he whined, ‘have sinned for money or ambition; I was simply compelled to.’

‘Are we to stand here and listen to this rubbish?’ Narcissus barked. He pointed to the execution grounds now strewn with bleeding, decapitated corpses. ‘Others have died, why spare an actor?’

And Mnester went under the sword.

Once the executions were finished, Claudius insisted on being taken back to the palace, where he ate and drank and grew maudlin over Messalina.

‘I’ll see her tomorrow,’ he declared tearfully. ‘I’ll listen to her explanation.’ He became more and more befuddled, his anger cooling, his lust for Messalina resurfacing.

Pallas reported to Agrippina that Claudius had started to refer to Messalina as ‘that poor woman’.

‘She cannot live till morning,’ Agrippina declared. ‘Where is she now?’

‘She has fled to the gardens of Lucullus.’

‘Then let her die there. Parmenon,’ Agrippina ordered. ‘Go and see her. Tell her the Emperor’s heart has not changed. Pallas, she must be dead by nightfall.’

Reluctantly I left. No, that’s a lie, I wasn’t reluctant: if Messalina survived, she’d claw her way back into Claudius’s affections and both my head and that of my mistress would roll. Whether I liked it or not I was in the amphitheatre facing a fight to the death. Our opponent was down and I could almost hear the roar of the crowd, ‘ Hoc Habet! Hoc Habet ! Let her have it!’

Messalina was sheltering in an olive grove, prostrate on the ground, with her mother kneeling beside her. The former Empress glanced up hopefully, but when she saw me her lip curled.

‘So, Agrippina’s shadow has arrived,’ she mocked.

I knelt down beside her. Even at this moment, Messalina was incredibly beautiful: the gorgeous ringlets framing her exquisitely shaped face, those strange eyes that seemed to shift in colour, lips like a full red rose and skin as white as the purest milk. She was still dressed in her Bacchanalian costume, her body coated with the most expensive perfume, her face streaked black where the tears had spread the kohl.

‘What have you come for?’ she whispered, sitting up.

‘You know why he’s here!’ her mother snapped.

This tall, grey-haired, severe woman had little love for her daughter, but at least she had the courage to attend her during her last hours.

‘What’s your name?’ Messalina smiled through her tears. ‘Parmenon, isn’t it? Tell me one thing, Parmenon, is Domina Agrippina in the palace?’

‘She is!’

‘My mistake,’ she sighed. ‘I should have taken her head years ago. It’s finished, isn’t it, Parmenon?’

‘It is,’ I replied. ‘All that remains is an honourable death.’

‘Not here,’ Messalina declared.

She grasped my hand, got to her feet and pointed to a small garden pavilion deep in the trees. Gripping my arm she hurried across, her mother following. Inside, the pavilion smelt of damp wood and leaves, but she must have been there before as a lamp was burning, cushions and blankets were strewn on the floor, and a roll of parchment and a tray of pens and ink lay on a table. Messalina ordered her mother to close the door and pull the bolts across; even as she did so, we heard the tramp of feet followed by a pounding on the door. Messalina crouched on the floor, drawing the blankets around her, whimpering like a puppy. I felt sorry for her at that moment but I had no hope to offer her. The door was forced, and a Praetorian officer with one of Pallas’s henchmen, Evodus, stepped into the darkened room.

‘So, there you are, you bitch!’ Evodus bawled. ‘You haven’t even the guts to take your own life!’

The officer peered through the gloom, recognised me and nodded. Evodus was now indulging in a litany of abuse, as the officer stood staring down at the Empress. Messalina lifted a dagger, and pressed the tip against her throat, then against her breast, but couldn’t drive it in. The officer took a step forward. Messalina’s head went down and she sobbed.

‘Quickly!’ her mother murmured. ‘For pity’s sake, do it quickly!’

The officer took another step forward. ‘Excellency,’ he whispered.

Messalina looked up hopefully. The officer was well trained and his sword leapt from the scabbard. In one quick thrust he plunged it into her neck. Messalina’s mouth opened and shut, her hand clawing at the blood pumping from the gaping wound. She whispered something and slumped on her side. Evodus cackled with glee, until the officer pressed the edge of his glistening-red sword against his throat.

‘Shut up, you bastard! Just shut up!’ He nodded at me and Messalina’s mother, re-sheathed his sword and joined the cohort outside.

I was with him when he reported Messalina’s death to the Emperor. Claudius, deep in his cups, nodded and barked for more wine.

Years later, when everything had turned to dust, and Agrippina and I were preparing to flee to Antium, I broached the subject of Messalina’s fall.

‘Never once,’ I said, ‘after your rival’s death did you refer to her. You never gloated. You never rejoiced. It was as if she never existed.’

‘She was an opponent,’ Agrippina replied. ‘She died and that was the end of the matter.’

‘How did you achieve it?’ I asked. ‘How did a woman like Messalina lose her senses and involve herself in such stupidity?’

‘Have you ever watched a pastry cook, Parmenon, prepare one of those marvellous delicacies: strawberries mixed with cream, all hidden in layers of pastry?’ She wetted her lips. ‘That’s what I baked for Messalina and she gave me every assistance.’ Agrippina motioned with her hand as if to indicate layers. ‘She was wanton and spoilt. She offended the freedmen. She threatened. She believed she could do what she wanted. She hated me and was determined to take Silius at any cost. The more Claudius tolerated her wantonness, the greater grew her fury, until she lost all reason.’ She shrugged. ‘After that, it was simply a matter of waiting.’

‘As you did?’ I asked.

‘Oh yes.’

‘And the rest?’ I asked. ‘Your marriage to the Emperor?’

‘The groundwork had all been laid,’ she sighed. ‘Claudius was a goat, but as well as his mistresses he wanted a wife who was the opposite of Messalina. He believed that I was quiet and studious and, of course, I had the blood of Augustus in my veins.’ She laughed mockingly.

‘But you were his niece?’

‘Oh, you remember how we managed to overcome that little problem, Parmenon, firstly, I had old Vitellius, who was only too willing to advance my cause with the Senate and with the Emperor.’

‘Bribed already by you?’

‘Of course, as was the Senate and the Praetorian Guard. Although some people spoke out against the marriage — I remember one soothsayer describing it as a “wicked marriage bed, a torch for mourning” — Claudius and I had our way. I thought he would be too old for bed sport but I’ll give the old goat his due, he kept me as busy as I did him. The rest?’ She paused. ‘Well, perhaps, I did overdo it. I became the Emperor’s wife, and received the title of Augusta. My image was stamped on coins, and when I went through the streets, lictors carrying the fasces preceded my litter. I listened to the debates in the Senate, received the flattery of the standard-bearers.’ She smiled. ‘Marvellous times, eh, Parmenon?’

‘And what of the opposition?’ I asked.

‘Come, come, Parmenon. There was no bloodbath. You must admit I was quite restrained.’

‘Except in the case of Lollia Paulina.’

‘Oh yes.’ She tapped her sandalled foot. ‘I had to watch her. Claudius developed a passion for her; he liked to make love to her when she wore all her jewellery, especially those pearls she kept close to her skin so as to retain their purity. Within a year of our marriage, Claudius was inviting her to banquets, but she was stupid enough to start consulting fortune-tellers on how long my marriage would last. She should have kept her nose out of my business. I had her accused of treason. One night I dressed in my own jewels and pearls and gave Claudius a night of delight. The following morning Lollia Paulina was exiled.’