the administration of Britain is reorganized, there will be a need for a new Romanized aristocracy. The boy is of noble Iceni stock on the distaff side. But for some reason, Nero does not want to see me at the moment, although we are friends.”
“I am a member of the Senate,” said my father after a moment’s thought, “and I have never before begged a favor of Nero. I have also learned to keep my mouth shut in the Senate, which is more due to Tullia than to me, as I have lived with her during all these years and she has always had the last word. The situation is very confused and the records in Britain have been destroyed, so a clever lawyer could easily find evidence that the boy’s parents had received Roman citizenship in return for their services. It should be even easier as his father is not known. And it wouldn’t even be distorting the truth if you once went through a British form of marriage with his mother. Your own mother has a statue outside the Council House in Myrina. You could pay for a statue of your Lugunda in the Claudius temple when Colchester is rebuilt. I consider you owe that to the mother of your son.”
The strangest thing of all was that Tullia meanwhile had become quite enchanted by Jucundus and could not do enough for him. In spite of her strenuous efforts, her plump beauty had begun to fade and her chins had become a wrinkled bag. When she heard about the sad fate of Jucundus’ mother, she burst into tears and swept him into her arms.
“I can see from his mouth, nose and eyebrows and also from his eyes, that the boy is of noble birth,” she cried. “His parents must have possessed every merit except discrimination, since they’ve appointed a man like Minutus as his guardian. Believe me, I can tell gold from brass at a glance.”
Jucundus patiendy endured her caresses and kisses like a sacrificial lamb. Cephas’ training was already bearing fruit.
“The gods never allowed me children of my own,” Tullia went on sadly, “only miscarriages which I went to great trouble to arrange in my youth and during my two marriages. My third husband was sterile because of his great age, even if he was otherwise rich. And Marcus wasted his seed on a Greek pleasure-girl. But enough of that. I do not wish to offend the memory of your mother, my dear Minutus. This British boy I see as a good omen in our house. Marcus, you must save the handsome Jucundus from your feeble son’s guardianship. Who knows, otherwise Sabina might turn him into an animal trainer one day. Couldn’t we adopt him and bring him up as our own child?”
I was paralyzed with surprise and at first my father did not know what to say either. Now that I think about it, I can only imagine that there must have been some supernatural power within my mother’s wooden goblet.
In this way I was relieved of a heavy duty, for at that time I was not really fit to bring up anyone, no more then than now. This I have learned from you, Julius. For many reasons my reputation was not a good one, while my father was regarded as a good-natured fool. He had no ambitions and no one thought he would ever willingly become involved in political intrigues.
As an expert in Eastern matters, he had filled the office of Praetor for two months for the sake of form. He had once, from sheer good will, been proposed as Consul. If Jucundus became his adoptive son, the boy would have incomparably better prospects than he would under my protection. And as a senator’s son he could be written into the rolls of knights as soon as he had shed his boy’s clothes.
Shortly after I had solved this problem, I heard that the Praetorian Prefect Burrus had developed a boil in his throat and was dying. Nero hastily sent his own personal physician to attend him. When Burrus was informed of this, he drew up his will and sent it for safekeeping to the Vestal temple.
Not until then did he allow the physician to paint his throat with an infallible remedy on a feather. The next night he was well and truly dead. Presumably he would have died in any case, for blood poisoning had set in and he had begun to be delirious with fever.
Burrus was buried with great ceremony. Before the pyre was lit on Mars field, Nero proclaimed Tigellinus Praetorian Prefect. This former horse dealer did not have sufficient judicial experience, so Fenius Ru-fus, a man of Jewish descent, formerly very widely traveled in his capacity as State Inspector of the grain trade, was appointed to deal with external cases.
I walked the whole length of the goldsmiths’ street to find a sufficiently worthy gift. Finally I decided on a multistringed necklace of faultless pearls and with it I sent the following letter to Poppaea Sabina:
Minutus Lausus Manilianus greets Poppaea Sabina: Venus was born from the foam of the waves. Pearls are a worthy gift to Venus, but the most faultless radiance of these humble Parthian pearls cannot compare with the shimmer of your complexion. I can never forget it. I hope these pearls will remind you of our friendship. Certain signs and omens show that the prophecy you were once pleased to reveal to me is about to be fulfilled.
Obviously I was the first to interpret the omens so skillfully, for Poppaea sent for me at once, thanked me for the beautiful gift and tried to find out how I could have known that she was pregnant, when she herself had known only a few days before. I could only point out my
Etruscan heritage, which sometimes helped me with unusual dreams.
“After his mother’s death,” said Poppaea, “Nero was upset and tried to push me to one side. But now all is well again. He needs his real friends who will stand by him and support him in his policies.”
This was indeed true, for after he had publicly reproached Octavia for barrenness and informed the Senate that he was thinking of separating from her, violent disturbances had broken out in the city. To test the feelings of the people, Nero had a statue of Poppaea erected in the forum near the Vestal Virgins’ well. A crowd threw it down, garlanded the statues of Octavia and then made their way up to Palatine, so that the Praetorians had to take to their arms to persuade them to go away.
I suspected that Seneca’s clever fingers were in this game, since the uprising and demonstration had been so spontaneous and apparently well planned. Nero, however, was badly frightened and at once recalled Octavia, who was on her way to Campania on his orders. Jubilant crowds followed her sedan and offers of thanksgiving were made in the temples of the Capitoline when she was back in Palatine.
The following day, for the first time in two years, I received an urgent summons from Nero. One of Octavia’s servant girls had accused her of adultery with an Alexandrian flute player called Eucerus. The trial was held in secret and had been arranged by Tigellinus. Octavia herself was not present.
I was heard as a witness, as I knew Eucerus. I could only say that flute music itself is inclined to give people frivolous thoughts. I had with my own eyes seen Octavia sighing, her melancholy gaze on Eucerus as he played at dinner. But, I added for the sake of justice, Octavia sighed on other occasions too, apd was of a melancholy temperament, as everyone knew.
Octavia’s slaves underwent interrogations that were so painful I began to feel slightly sick as I watched. Some of them were prepared to confess but could nqt explain when, where and how the adultery had taken place. Tigellinus intervened in the interrogation, which was not going as he had wished, and impatiently said to a pretty girl, “Wasn’t this adultery a subject of general conversation among the servants?”
“If one believed everything people say,” the girl snapped back in reply, “then Octavia’s private parts are incomparably more chaste than your mouth, Tigellinus.”
The laughter was so great that the interrogation had to be broken off. Tigellinus’ vices were well known. He had now also revealed his legal ignorance by using leading questions to make the slaves admit something which was obviously not true. The judges’ sympathies were with the slaves and they would not allow Tigellinus to cause them lasting harm against the injunctions of the law.
The court adjourned until the following day. Then the only witness to appear was the Commantler of the Fleet, my old friend Anicetus. With feigned embarrassment he related, carefully giving time and place, how Octavia, while in Baiae to bathe, had shown a surprising interest in the fleet and had personally wished to make the acquaintance of the captains and the centurions.
Anicetus had misunderstood her intentions and had made approaches to her, which Octavia had nevertheless definitely rejected. Then Anicetus, blinded by criminal lust, had drugged her with a narcotic drink and used her, but later had bitterly regretted his deed. He could now only plead for the Emperor’s mercy, for his conscience had made him confess his crime.
That Anicetus had a conscience at all was news to everyone, himself included, I should think. But the divorce was confirmed by the court, Octavia was exiled to the island of Pandataria, and the faithful Anicetus sent to the naval base in Sardinia. And Nero managed without Seneca’s help to compose an eloquent account of what had happened for the Senate of Rome and the people. In this he implied that Octavia, relying on Burrus, had thought that she had the Praetorian Guard on her side. To win the support of the navy, she had seduced the naval