say nothing.”
Naturally Aunt Laelia was curious, which had perhaps been the intention all along, and she began to question Agrippina about what it was that had occurred to her.
“I thought that Lucius needed the constant companionship,” she said after a moment’s hesitation, “of a few young noblemen whose loyalty I could rely on and who at the same time would set him a good example. But no, no, it would only bring them misfortune. They would be jeopardizing their futures.”
Aunt Laelia was not very pleased with this suggestion and I was not really sure enough of myself to dare think that Agrippina meant me.
But Lucius put his hand shyly on mine and cried, “If you, Minutus, were by my side, I’d never be afraid of anything or anyone.”
Aunt Laelia began to stammer that it could be misunderstood if Lucius Domitius began to gather a following of nobles around his person.
“I can already walk a little on crutches,” I said quickly. “Soon my thigh will have healed. Perhaps I’ll be lame for life, but if it doesn’t make me look foolish, I’d be glad to be Lucius’ companion and protect him until he’s old enough to look after himself. That won’t be very long. You are already big for your age and you can ride and use weapons.”
To be quite honest, he looked more girlish than manly, with his graceful movements and his elaborate hair style. This impression was strengthened even more by the milk-white complexion that redheads usually have. But I remembered he was only ten and yet could ride a horse and drive a chariot at displays. A boy like that could not be completely childish.
We talked for a little while longer, about horses and Greek poets and singers he seemed to admire, but we came to no particular decision. I realized that I should be welcome at Agrippina’s house at any time. They left and Agrippina asked her purse-bearer to give Barbus a gold coin.
“She’s very lonely,” explained Aunt Laelia afterwards. “Her noble birth keeps her apart from other people and her equals daren’t be seen with her for fear of incurring the Emperor’s displeasure. It’s sad to see such an exalted woman turning to a lame young nobleman for friendship.”
I was not hurt by her words, for I had myself wondered the same thing.
“Is she really afraid of being poisoned?” I asked carefully.
Aunt Laelia snorted.
“She makes too much of things,” she said. “No one is murdered in broad daylight in an inhabited house in the middle of Rome. The story sounded invented to me. You’d better not get mixed up in that sort of thing. It is true that Emperor Gaius, the dear boy, had a chest full of poisons with which he experimented. But Emperor Claudius had it destroyed and poisoners are always severely punished. You know, I suppose, that Agrippina’s husband, Lucius’ father Domitius, was a brother of Domitia Lepida, Messalina’s mother? When Lucius was three, he inherited everything from him, but Gaius kept it all. Agrippina was exiled and to survive she had to learn to dive for sponges on an island far away. Lucius was cared for by his aunt, Domitia. The hairdresser, Anicetus, was his tutor as you can still see from his hair. But now Domitia Lepida has quarreled with her daughter Messalina, and is one of the few who dare to be seen openly with Agrippina and spoil Lucius. Messalina uses the name of her grandfather, Valerius Messala, to show she is directly descended from the god Augustus. The mother is angry with her because she all too openly shows her affection for Gaius Silius, goes with him everywhere, is as at home in his house and with his freedmen and slaves as she is at her own, and has even taken valuable inherited furniture there from Palatine. On the other hand, it is all very natural, for Silius is the handsomest man in Rome. It could even all be quite innocent, as it’s all so open. A young woman can’t be forever in the company of a bad-tempered old drunkard. Claudius inevitably neglects her because of his official duties and in his spare time he prefers to play dice to going to the theater. He prefers to go to the amphitheater too, to see the wild animals tearing criminals to pieces, and that’s not very suitable for a refined young woman to watch.”
“That’s enough about Messalina now,” I cried, clapping my hands to my ears. “My head is in a whirl of relationships between these families.”
But Aunt Laelia had been roused by our distinguished visitors.
“The whole thing is quite simple,” she went on. “The god Augustus was the grandson of the god Julius Caesar’s sister. By his sister Octavia’s first marriage, Messalina is the daughter of Octavia’s grandson, while Emperor Claudius, by Octavia’s second marriage with Marcus Antonius, is grandson to Octavia. Agrippina is his niece, but at the same time widow of Octavia’s second grandson Gnaius Domitius, so Lucius Domitius is therefore- listen now-at the same time grandson to Octavia’s first daughter and grandson to the second daughter and in fact a sibling to Messalina.”
“Then Emperor Claudius has married for the third time, to his mother’s half sister’s granddaughter who calls herself Valeria Messalina, if I’ve got it right,” I said. “In fact then, Messalina is of just as noble birth as Agrippina?”
“More or less,” admitted Aunt Laelia. “But she has none of Marcus Antonius’ depraved blood in her, which the others all suffer so much from. Her son Britannicus has of course some of it through Claudius to the extent… “
“To the extent…?” I repeated questioningly.
“Well, Claudius had an illegitimate child before,” Aunt Laelia said reluctantly, “It’s not absolutely certain that Britannicus is really his son, when one knows everything that’s said about Messalina. It was said at the time that that marriage was arranged by Emperor Gaius just to save the girl’s reputation.”
“Aunt Laelia,” I said solemnly. “From loyalty to the Emperor, I ought to denounce you for insults like that.”
“As if Claudius would believe anything bad about his lovely child-wife,” snorted Aunt Laelia.
But she looked around carefully all the same.
Afterwards I asked Barbus whether he had really had such a prophetic dream just as he had wakened from his drunken sleep, and he maintained stubbornly that he had in fact seen what he had described, although it could have come from the wine and the surprise.
“Wine makes you have such strange dreams in the heat of the summer,” he said, “that it’s quite frightening sometimes.”
When I had been walking on crutches for a while, the cavalry doctor found me a good masseur who treated my legs and exercised my slack muscles so well that I could soon walk unaided. I have worn a thick-soled shoe on the injured foot ever since, so my limp is scarcely noticeable.
I began to ride again, but soon noticed that only a very few young nobles chose to take part in the riding exercises. Most of them had no thought of a military career. For them it was sufficient if they could somehow remain in the saddle for next year’s parade.
A resdessness and a desire for activity seized me in the heat of the summer. Once or twice I went to see Lucius Domitius, but in spite of everything he was much too childish company for me. He was busy writing poems and he read verses to me from his wax tablet and asked me to correct them. He modeled surprisingly well and fashioned animals and people out of clay. He was very pleased if you praised him but was easily hurt if you made critical remarks, although he tried to hide it. He seriously suggested that I should take lessons from his dancing master so that I could learn to move gracefully with pleasing gestures.
“The art of dancing is not much use to anyone who is going to learn to use a sword and spear and shield,” I said.
Lucius said that he hated the sword fights at the amphitheater, in which rough gladiators injured and killed each other.
“I’m not going to be a gladiator,” I said, offended. “A Roman knight has to learn the skills of war.”
“War Is n Momly nnd unnecessary occupation,” he said. “Rome has given peace lo the world. But I’ve heard that a relation of my late father, Gnaius Domitius Corbulo, is skirmishing in Germany on the other side of the Rhine to earn the right of a triumph. If you really want to, I can write to him and recommend you as a tribune. But he’s a hard taskmaster and will make you work hard if he’s not posted away from there. I don’t think Uncle Claudius wants any of my father’s relations to become too famous.” _
I promised to think about the matter, but Barbus found out more about Corbulo and maintained that he had been more distinguished as a road builder in Gaul than a warrior in the forests of Germany.
Naturally I read the little book I had been given. The philosopher Seneca wrote in a fine modern style and asserted that a wise man could keep a balance of mind throughout the tests of fate. But I thought he was long-
