Paul Doherty - Domina

‘Excellency.’ Anicetus stepped forward and grasped Nero’s shoulder.

‘What is it?’ the monster gasped.

‘You are to be congratulated,’ Anicetus soothed, ‘on being rescued from a treasonable conspiracy against your life.’

‘Am I?’ Nero asked anxiously. The monster was still half drunk.

Anicetus pointed to Agrippina. ‘She was responsible; her threats were well known.’

Nero staggered to a stool and sat down.

‘And her accomplice?’ he asked anxiously.

Anicetus turned his head, smiling at me through the darkness. ‘Why, Caesar, he stands just within the doorway. He should be brought back to Rome. I am sure Tigellinus would be delighted to put him to the question.’

Anicetus walked towards me. He didn’t even flinch as his sandals slapped through Agrippina’s blood. He stretched out his sword and thrust the tip into the soft part of my throat.

‘The eyes and ears of Agrippina,’ he whispered. ‘What are you going to do, Parmenon? Beg for your life? Hercules! Oberitius!’ He called out to his two lieutenants. ‘Bind his hands!’

The two ruffians came forward. I became aware of warmth, of hands touching me, of what had happened, of the yawning emptiness. I would never talk to Agrippina again. I would never shout at her, smile at her, tell her she was wrong. Above all, those eyes of hers would never again catch mine, smiling and winking. Oh, I know all about her cruelties, her depravity. . but I loved Agrippina. The sheer emptiness of a life without her shattered my soul. I lashed out, longing to grasp a sword and plunge it in deep. I was aware of footsteps in the corridor outside, and one of the Germans came to enquire what was going on. Anicetus bawled at him to stay away and guard the gates. I was pummelled and kicked, my arms seized, my wrists lashed and bound together. I was forced to kneel, while Hercules seized my hair, yanking my head forward. I heard the hiss of a sword drawn by Oberitius. Looking to the left, I glimpsed his sandalled feet apart, legs tense. He was bringing the sword back for the killing blow.

‘Caesar!’ Anicetus’s voice was low and soothing. ‘We should execute him now, and take his head back to Rome as further proof. Or, as I have said, Tigellinus could put him to the question. Once Parmenon has confessed the details of how he and his mistress plotted your overthrow, we could make it public and read it out to the Senate, the Praetorian Guard, the provinces and the army.’

I tasted blood in my mouth. Lifting my head, I stared at that figure sitting in the chair still muttering to himself. I thought of Tiberius’s cruel face, Caligula’s mad eyes and Claudius’s twisted mouth opening and shutting like that of an ugly carp. I didn’t really care whether I died now or was taken back to Rome. I’d confess to nothing.

‘Caesar!’ Anicetus demanded. ‘I await your orders!’

I heard the stool scrape back, as Nero got to his feet and made his way over.

‘Well, well, well!’ he breathed. He patted me on the head. ‘What are you doing down there, Parmenon? Get him up! Get him up!’

I was hustled to my feet. Nero pushed his face a few inches from mine, his eyes lazy, his mouth half open. The monster was smiling at me.

‘What do you think of Anicetus’s plan?’ he whispered. ‘Come on, Parmenon, tell him what’s wrong with it. You might win your life.’

‘If you kill me,’ I declared, my mind suddenly sharp and keen. I needed to live — for revenge. ‘If you kill me,’ I repeated, ‘and take my head back to Rome, the people will laugh, and the Senate will mock.’

‘Good!’ Nero murmured. He tweaked my nose playfully.

Anicetus tried to object but Nero held up his hand. ‘Go on, Parmenon,’ he urged. ‘Why will they laugh?’

‘They’ll say it wasn’t much of a conspiracy, Your Excellency.’ I replied. ‘Just one woman living in exile and her manservant. You can scarcely call my head that of a Parthian king or the commander of one of your legions on the Rhine.’

‘Very good!’ Nero wagged a finger in my face. ‘You see, Parmenon.’

I tried not to flinch at the stale wine on his breath.

‘You’ve been around for some time, haven’t you? You’ve danced with Tiberius, Uncle Claudius, Uncle Caligula, not to mention Sejanus and Macro.’ His face suddenly turned ugly. ‘If we are going to have a plot,’ he shouted at Anicetus. ‘Then it has to be a proper plot! Gods!’ He threw his hand up dramatically. ‘Can you imagine what they’d say?’ He mimicked Seneca’s voice. ‘And the lieutenant in this conspiracy was Parmenon! Who’s that, everyone will ask.’

Nero walked up and down like an actor on the stage. If Caligula had been mad, Nero was truly insane. He had built his own reality. To him everything was an act. I am sure he had forgotten about his mother’s corpse stiffening in her own blood.

‘And if we took you back to Rome?’ He came back and stood before me.

‘I wouldn’t confess,’ I replied. ‘Tigellinus can play with my ears, my tongue, my balls or the soles of my feet.’

Nero threw his head back and laughed.

‘Precisely! You see, Anicetus, the lesson you have learnt.’ He turned back and tapped me on the cheek. ‘What is that, Parmenon?’

‘Say as little as possible, Excellency.’

‘Say as little as possible,’ Nero repeated dreamily. ‘Cut his bonds!’ he ordered.

Anicetus reluctantly agreed. Nero grasped me by the shoulder and took me out into the courtyard.

‘I am giving you your life, Parmenon. Do you remember that day in the garden long ago when I was sacrificing the bird to Caligula? You never did tell Mother, did you? See how your Emperor rewards you?’ He pushed me away and stood back. ‘And you’re my link with Mother. I can’t slice through the umbilical cord completely. You’ll say as little as possible, won’t you?’ He smiled sheepishly. ‘Of course you will, because you’re like me, Parmenon, aren’t you?’ He drew closer. ‘You were in the audience at the beginning of this play and you want to see it through to the end, don’t you?’

He turned and talked as if into the darkness, chattering like a child. I suppose I could have killed him then, but I could think of nothing but Agrippina’s corpse.

‘You take care of her, Parmenon,’ Nero declared as if he could read my mind. ‘You take care of “the best of mothers”.’

He walked to the fountain and washed his hands again. He came back and dried them on my tunic, kissed me on each cheek as if I were a favourite uncle, and walked off into the darkness.

The villa fell silent. Nero, his minions, the marines and the Praetorians departed but I knew spies had been left to watch and see what might happen. I picked up Agrippina’s corpse as gently as a mother would cradle a child. Despite the blows to her head and the awful rent to her stomach, her face was peaceful and composed, although already the limbs were cold and stiffening. I feared further degradation, the monster changing his mind and coming back to take her head. Nero was insane: those who are both evil and mad have no sense of what is real. They live in a world of their own dreams and phantasms. Did I feel grief? Well, of course I did! An eerie grief, a profound, enduring sense of loss. My world had died with Agrippina. I stared into her face, kissed the half-open lips and took her out into the courtyard. I laid her on the wet flagstones and went back into the house, to which some of the braver servants and slaves had returned. Wide-eyed, with white, haggard faces, they moved like ghosts, helping me to collect kindling. I took Agrippina’s favourite couch, which was covered in purple and a cloth of the same colour edged in gold. I laid the corpse on it, climbing up the kindling to look once more on her face. I had two coins bearing her imprint, which I used to close her staring eyes. I brushed her hair the way she liked it so that it lay on either side of her face, not piled up like some Roman matron. Wild flowers she’d collected and pressed were placed in her hand. The villa was ransacked for her favourite ornaments and some of the pots she’d made in the kiln.