Paul Doherty - Domina

Agrippina brooded and refused to tell me what she was planning. Her next confrontation with Nero, during one of Nero’s eternal banquets, struck terror in my heart. Agrippina was given the place of honour, though Nero spent most of his time whispering to Acte, showing her every mark of public affection. The guests were all aware of Agrippina drinking a little too fast as she glared at her son: it was like waiting for a violent storm to strike on a beautiful summer’s day. Nero turned to fill his mother’s cup and she let it drop to the floor, the precious goblet smashing to smithereens.

‘Why, Mother,’ Nero drawled. ‘What is the matter?’

Agrippina swung her legs from the couch, got to her feet and stood over him. ‘Why, son, have you forgotten?’ She gestured down the hall to where Britannicus sat with his friends. ‘He is no longer a child,’ she snapped. ‘He is Claudius’s true son, the real heir to the throne.’ Her voice rose. ‘The throne that you stole with my help — your mother whom you now insult. All Rome shall learn of all this! The army will choose!’

It was ridiculous scene. After Agrippina withdrew, for the first time in my life I pushed her through the antechamber into her own private writing office, where she stood like a little girl ready to be chastised. I could not forget Nero’s face at that banquet, those popping blue eyes, the effeminate curls and pouting lips.

‘Domina,’ I shouted, ‘you’ve signed our death warrants and that of Britannicus. You’ve challenged your own son!’

Agrippina did not break down in tears. She sat on a stool clutching the fringes of her robes, staring at the wall. In that moment her greatest weakness was exposed: this wasn’t about the empire or power, about who controlled the court and army, this was a mother who truly believed her son had publicly spurned her. She’d lashed out, uttering the first thing that came into her mind. I sighed and knelt beside her.

‘Domina, listen!’ I urged. ‘Would it be so bad if your son abdicated and took you with him to Antium to live as private citizens. .?’

Her eyes crinkled in amusement.

‘Why, Parmenon, you are quite a philosopher. You are right: all my life I dreamt of being the Augusta, a new Livia, mistress of an empire. I have achieved that but now I’ve lost my son, haven’t I, Parmenon?’

‘It can be rectified, Domina.’

I’ve told many lies in my life, but that was my greatest. Nero was no longer her son. He was what the empire had made him: a monster. Or had his father been right? Was there something in the blood, some evil taint? Did Nero have the same penchant for wickedness as Caligula and Tiberius? Of course he did!

He did not dare touch Agrippina but, like a panther, he turned on Britannicus. The young man was invited to another banquet, where, hoping to make fun of him, Nero asked to hear one of his poems. Britannicus performed so brilliantly that even Nero’s claque, a group of professional hand-clappers who wore their hair bushy and went under the name of ‘The Bees’, were impressed. Nero took a vile revenge: he attacked Britannicus and buggered him, heaping humiliation upon him. Caligula’s ghost had returned.

Nero spent more time with his foppish courtiers, consulting Seneca or Burrus if he wanted advice, whilst Agrippina stayed in her own apartments, where most of her household, apart from Acerronia and Creperius, were Seneca’s spies. The hangers-on and time-servers soon sniffed the breeze and realised what was coming. Agrippina was still physically safe but Britannicus, a mere shadow of his former self, had to be dealt with. He started to suffer from epileptic seizures, during which his face would turn blue, his neck would swell convulsively and he’d froth at the mouth. Britannicus one could see was marked down for death. I pleaded with Agrippina and she tried to do what she could, sending antidotes for Britannicus, warning him to watch what he ate and drank. But Nero brought Locusta the poisoner back into the palace and put her under the direct charge of one of Burrus’s lieutenants, the tribune Julius Pollio. All the court suspected what was happening. A poison was given to Britannicus but the dosage was too small, and after stomach pains he soon recovered. Nero was so annoyed that he beat Locusta with his own hands until she promised something that ‘would act like lightning’. The poison she concocted was served to a pig and within seconds it had dropped down dead.

A sumptuous supper party was arranged, to which all of the court were invited, including Agrippina and me. The theme was Persian and the rooms and couches were decorated with exquisite Persian tapestries, whilst we were served with delicious dishes from that country. A special soup was brewed for Britannicus to avoid upsetting his delicate stomach, but finding it too hot he returned it and asked for some cold water to be added. The poison must have been added then. In less than a minute, Britannicus lurched off his couch, with his hands clutching at his throat, only to fall lifeless to the floor.

‘Do not trouble yourselves,’ Nero drawled to the guests. ‘My brother Britannicus is subject to fits.’

Two Nubians carried Britannicus’s body from the dining hall and the banquet continued. Agrippina and I managed to slip away and discovered Britannicus’s corpse sprawled on a couch in an adjoining room. Embalmers were already smearing it with creams and cosmetics to hide the livid, dark spots appearing all over the skin. Within hours the body was sheeted, taken out to a makeshift funeral pyre and consumed by flames.

Agrippina returned to her chamber, her face as pale as that of a ghost. She sat at her writing desk, hastily scrawled a note on a wax tablet and told me to send Creperius with it to a house in the Jewish quarter across the Tiber. Once this was done I returned to the chamber.

‘What is this nonsense?’ I demanded. ‘Do you really need to consult a soothsayer to learn what the future holds?’

Agrippina refused to listen. Creperius returned and said that Joah the Israelite would meet her immediately. Agrippina ordered a plain litter to be brought to the side door of her private apartments, and Acerronia and I were ordered to escort her. The bearers, all trusted slaves, took her at a soft-footed run down through the alleyways of the Palatine and across the bridge into the Jewish quarter. Joah’s house was unpretentious, flanked on one side by a cookshop, and on the other by a small warehouse. Joah was tall and lean with a gaunt face, cascading white hair and a moustache and beard of the same colour. He had large, deep-set eyes and the sort of magical presence which appealed to his select clientele of wealthy, Roman women. He opened the door before I even knocked.

‘Tell the Augusta to come in.’ He looked at me closely. ‘And you and her waiting woman. You can be trusted, Parmenon, can’t you?’

I don’t know whether he truly had magical powers or was just shrewd enough to know that I worked closely with Agrippina.

The room he ushered us into was dark and lit by flickering oil lamps. ‘I have the answer to what you are going to ask,’ he declared, closing the door behind us. The magician strode across and placed a hand on Agrippina’s shoulder.

‘Lie down on the floor!’ he urged. ‘Parmenon, Acerronia, stand in the corner. Do not react to what happens.’

Agrippina pulled off her headdress and lay down. Immediately strange shrieks and cries seemed to echo from the earthbeaten floor, and the air became thick with the odour of pungent sharp spices. The light seemed to grow, showing great spider webs that glimmered on the floor and crept over Agrippina’s prostrate body. Only then did I glimpse the altar half way down the room. Joah drew what looked like a white, gleaming circle round Agrippina’s body. The light became as intense as that of the corona of the sun during an eclipse. I had to shield my eyes even as I marvelled at the magician’s trickery. How he created that illusion, I have never understood. He ordered Agrippina to hold a small sheaf of corn in her left hand and, with her right, to count out thirteen grains of corn. As Agrippina obeyed, Joah scooped these up and put them in a small copper cup which he poured into a silver bowl and filled with water.