Domina

To strengthen her son’s position even more, Agrippina decided Nero should marry Claudius’s young daughter Octavia, although she was already betrothed to a nobleman, Lucius Silanus. Agrippina began a campaign against him, accusing him, of all things, of incest with his sister. Lucius cut his throat and Nero and Octavia were betrothed; the fact that they were second cousins proved little obstacle.

Just after his fourteenth birthday, Nero received the ‘Toga Virilis’, the mark of manhood, as Agrippina was in a hurry for her son to grow up. She asked me to attend on him, which I did reluctantly as I would have preferred to keep well away from him. Whenever I was in his presence I was always reminded of Caligula, though Nero looked nothing like his hollow-eyed uncle. By that time Nero’s hair had a strong tinge of auburn, almost copper-red, and was dressed in thick masses of curls around his forehead and the nape of his neck. He had blunt, heavy features and protruding eyes. His near-sighted pale-blue eyes and heavy eyelids gave him a dreamy, i

Before leaving the palace, Nero consecrated the gown of his boyhood to the House of Gods, and placed at their feet the golden chain every boy wears as a charm during their childhood. Afterwards he was escorted solemnly to the temple of Jupiter amidst the waiting, clamouring crowds. Nero loved every minute of it. He stopped at the crossroads where the priestesses of Bacchus, their heads crowned with ivy, gave him small fried cakes dipped in honey, a symbol of his new manhood. From the temple Nero was escorted to the amphitheatre, where free corn had been distributed to the mob and silver to the troops. Nero, wearing triumphal dress, was hailed and adored, and sat beaming at his worshippers, licking his lips as his eyes leered at the women. He touched my wrist and leaned over.

‘Do you know, Parmenon,’ he laughed. ‘Seneca says I must be offered all temptations so that I can be trained to master my passions!’

His remark created ripples of laughter around us. Nero’s eyes held mine, and his smile faded; even then he was plotting how he could escape Agrippina’s influence. I reported this to my mistress but she refused to believe it.

‘He’s only testing the water,’ she replied.

‘Was it wise to hire Seneca?’ I asked. ‘Remember what the old humbug said; “If you preach austerity to a young man, eventually it makes him want to savour the opposite”.’

‘Seneca is doing a good job,’ Agrippina replied absent-mindedly. ‘My son is being schooled well, so when the Emperor dies, may the Gods forbid, Nero will be Caesar.’

Of course, in power everything has its own reaction. For four years Agrippina was given the run of Rome, removing opposition, managing the Senate, bribing the guards, keeping the freedmen in her camp. Opponents such as Lollia Paulina were given short shrift but Agrippina had no blood lust, preferring instead to influence people, to ease the way, to open doors through guile. Through Pallas she could organise the Senate and eventually the Praetorian Guard. Whoever controlled that crack regiment had a strong power base: they would be the ones to hail the new Emperor and take care of any opposition. Agrippina had already distributed largesse and, of course, as the daughter of the great Germanicus, the troops held her in high regard. Agrippina made sure that such adoration remained constant and eventually persuaded Claudius to appoint her nominee, the thickset, capable and loyal Sextus Burrus, as Commander of the Praetorian Guard. He was an administrator rather than a campaigner but a man Agrippina thought she could fully control.

Only one obstacle remained: the freedman Narcissus. Although he had joined Agrippina in bringing down Messalina, he had soon realised he’d merely replaced one Empress with an even more powerful one. Narcissus withdrew from Agrippina’s circle, studying her tactics carefully. He did not oppose Agrippina or Nero openly but instead, reminded Claudius constantly of the ‘sweet days’ he had enjoyed with Messalina, and emphasised the rights and duties of poor Brita

Chapter 13

‘It is part of human nature to hate those whom you have injured’

‘What am I to do with Claudius?’

In the spring of the fourteenth year of Claudius’s reign, Agrippina was openly showing her discontent. She was thirty-nine years of age but looked much younger, despite the occasional white hair or faint lines on her olive-ski

‘What am I going to do about Claudius?’ Agrippina repeated.

We were seated in one of the gardens outside the palace, a sinister place that had once been used as a paupers’ burial ground. The outlines of the death-pits were still visible. During the time of Augustus its use as a cemetery was abandoned and it had been lawned over. Seventy years of lying fallow had benefited the rich soil, in which almost every bush and flower known to the empire bloomed. The heavy scent of flowers was almost overbearing but few birds flew or nested there. Many claimed it was a place of darkness, and the many palace sorcerors and soothsayers would often go grubbing amongst the abandoned graves for bones and herbs to make their magical potions.

‘Are you listening, Parmenon?’

‘I always listen, oh, August one,’ I retorted.

‘Don’t be sarcastic.’ Agrippina pinched my arm. ‘You are getting old, Parmenon.’ She tousled my hair. ‘There’s a good deal of silver here, but even more in the bank, eh? Do you ever think of leaving me, Parmenon?’

I pointed to a butterfly resting on a flower.

‘I’m like that, Excellency. I would love to fly but I am always drawn back.’

Agrippina leaned down and tightened the thong of her silver-gilt sandal, before dabbing at the sweat on her neck.

‘You’ve heard the rumours?’

‘I’ve heard Lepida is dead.’

‘Yes, the mother of the wild whore.’ Agrippina stared up at the sky. ‘She had to go, Parmenon. Blood will out. I killed her daughter and, in time, Lepida would have struck back at me or Nero.’

‘They say the guards threw her into boiling water before the executioner took her head.’

‘I didn’t ask for that,’ Agrippina replied.

‘Nor did Narcissus, Domina, and he’s the real problem, isn’t he? Whispering his poison into Claudius’s ears, openly courting young Brita

Agrippina was half listening: her mood had changed as her rage began to boil.

I know she had heard the reports. Claudius himself was now inviting Brita