David Wishart - Nero

The double doors burst open and the two soldiers on duty outside threw themselves into the room, their swords drawn. They stopped, confused.

Lucius held his hand out to the nearest.

'You!' he snapped. 'Give me that thing!'

The man glanced at his colleague, then handed the sword over hilt first.Lucius dropped it at the messenger's feet.

'He tried to kill me,' he said calmly. 'This man tried to kill me. You all saw it. Titus. Anicetus. He's an assassin, sent by my mother to kill me.'

The messenger was gazing down at the sword in horror.

'Sir, I never!' he whispered. 'Jupiter strike me, I never!'

'Arrest him!' Lucius screamed.

Amid total silence the second soldier stepped forward. He took the man's arm and led him out without a word.

Anicetus and I looked at each other.

The unarmed soldier bent to pick up the fallen sword and prepared to follow his colleague.

'Wait a moment.' Lucius laid a hand on his arm. 'Where's your own weapon, darling?' The man simply stared, slack-jawed. 'Don't you know it's death for a soldier on guard duty to be without his sword?'

The soldier said nothing, but I could see the whites of his eyes. His left hand — half hidden behind his back — made the sign of the horns: the peasant's protection against madness and ill-wishing.

Lucius gave the man a violent shove towards the door.

'Oh, go away!' he snapped. 'I'll let you off this time. But don't let it happen again.'

The doors closed behind him. Lucius stood rigid for a moment. Then he started to shake, and his eyes bulged like a terrified bullock's.

'Help me, Titus,' he whispered. 'Help me. She wants to kill me. She's sent one man. She can send others.'

I was too shocked to speak. Anicetus was deathly pale and trembling like a leaf himself. Suddenly Lucius rounded on him, his forefinger stabbing the air.

'You! You're my fucking Commander of the Fleet! You do something! Take a warship over to Bauli and kill her'

'Sir, I c-c-c-…' Anicetus stammered.

Lucius covered the space between them in two strides and grabbed the man by the neck of his tunic. The cloth tore.

'Finish her, you bastard!' he screamed. 'Fucking finish her!'

Anicetus staggered out. I watched Lucius as I would have done a savage animal that had escaped from its cage, but he paid me no attention. Stumbling back to his breakfast couch, he lay down on his side and hugged his knees tight against his chest. One thumb stole into his mouth.

I left him as quietly as I could, still in his foetal crouch, sucking.

Anicetus and his men found Agrippina alone in her bedroom at the Baulan villa. When she knew that death was inevitable she tore her nightshirt to the groin and bared her stomach.

'Strike me here,' she said, pointing.

Her body was burned that evening, on one of my flower-decked party couches.

The next two days were dreadful: Lucius was in a dangerously unstable mood, at the same time remorseful and exultant and absolutely terrified of the consequences of Agrippina's death. If I'd dared I would have gone back to Rome, but in his present state he would have viewed that as desertion and black treachery, and reacted accordingly. Worse, I had him all to myself: Anicetus was gone. When after the murder he had reported back to the emperor looking green as an unripe apple ('I was sick three times at the villa, Petronius. It wasn't the blood, though, it was the smell.') Lucius had thanked him coldly and packed him off to Misenum.

Seneca arrived post-haste from Rome. His carriage wheels had scarcely stopped turning before he was out and closeted with Lucius. I stayed up late, and alone, in the hope that he'd come and talk.

He did, eventually, at two in the morning. I motioned him towards the guest couch, but first he poured and drank a full cup of wine.

'I needed that,' he said simply. He sounded almost human.

'How's Nero?' I asked.

'Asleep. I persuaded him to let the doctor give him some poppy juice. 'He leaned back wearily on the couch. His jowly cheeks were pouchy and grey as wash-leather, and he looked old. 'We'll weather it. It's not the end of the world.'

It irked me a little that he was taking the situation so calmly.

'Personally,' I said, 'I'd've thought you'd be delighted to be rid of Agrippina.'

'No one delights in murder, my dear fellow.' He pursed his lips. 'I applaud the result, I deplore the method. It only remains to minimise the damage.'

'What a very moral attitude.'

'Don't judge me, Petronius. You called me a politician and you were right. It's the politician's task — and the philosopher's — to make the best of a bad job. Sometimes morality must give way to pragmatism. I'm only doing the best I can for Rome.'

It was late, and I'd no wish to quarrel. Besides, the man was clearly exhausted. I shrugged.

'I'm sorry,’ I said. ‘You're right, of course. So what does Rome think?'

He closed his eyes. The effect was horribly corpse-like.

'The Senate's glad to be rid of her, at any price, but the ordinary people are not happy. Not happy at all, in fact.' He frowned and then recited: '"Alcmaeon, Orestes and Nero are brothers. They all drew their pen-knives and did in their mothers."'

I laughed. 'What the hell is that?'

'A piece of doggerel I saw scrawled on a wall near the Appian Gate. Not by any means a unique graffito, I may say.'

'How sweet. At least it's literate.'

'Alcmaeon was misspelled.' He paused, and the eyes opened again. 'The army's a potential problem, too, of course. But then they always have been where the empress was concerned.'

I nodded, understanding. Hulking great legionaries can be soft as butter over the silliest things, and Agrippina had been the daughter of their hero Germanicus.

'Do you think there'll be trouble?'

'I hope not. There are no obvious contenders for the throne, Burrus is keeping his eyes open, and the officers at least are on our side. As I said, we'll weather it.' He reached over and poured himself another cup of wine. 'Do you mind?' I shook my head. 'My main worry — and this isconfidential, Petronius — is the Emperor himself. You will no doubt have noticed a certain deterioration in his condition.'

'He has seemed a little…distraught these last two days.'

Seneca gave a mirthless smile. 'Distraught. Yes. An understatement, of course. When I saw the lad he was raving. He claims Agrippina committed suicide after sending her freedman to murder him.'

'That's not true.'

'Oh, I know that perfectly well! The point is that Nero quite genuinely believes it.'

'He can't possibly. I was there.' I described the scene in the breakfast room. 'The poor man was executed for nothing.'

'Quite.' Seneca hesitated. 'If you take my advice you'll forget that little drama. And it was a drama, you know, pure theatre, despite its unpleasantly real conclusion. I wonder at times if the emperor is altogether sure of the difference between play-acting and reality any longer. You're very fortunate, my dear fellow, not to be packed off like our friend Anicetus. I doubt if Nero will want to see him again in a hurry.'

'I agree. So what do we do?'

He spread his hands. 'We do nothing, of course. What else can we do? Nero's in a state of panic at the moment, but that will pass when he sees that he's quite safe. And for the future all we can do is act as we have been acting these five years. Keep the poor boy's mind, such as it is, off the realities of power and occupied with his…other pursuits.' He tried a thin smile. 'Incidentally, your help there is invaluable and greatly appreciated.'

'Thank you. But I still feel that — '

There was a crash as the door of the room was thrown open. We both turned, startled. Lucius stood on the threshold supporting himself against the jamb, his eyes wide and staring.