commantler, Anicetus, but had become pregnant and, in the knowledge of her own depravity, had criminally caused an abortion.
This statement bore an authentic ring to those who did not personally know Octavia. I myself read it in wonder, for I had been present at the secret trial. But I realized that a certain exaggeration was necessary, because of Octavia’s popularity among the people.
To avoid demonstrations, Nero immediately had all the statues of Octavia destroyed. But the people withdrew indoors as if in mourning, and at the Senate there was not even a quorum, so many stayed away. There was no discussion on Nero’s statement, for it was not a bill but only a directive from the Emperor.
Twelve days later Nero was married to Poppaea Sabina, but the wedding celebrations were not particularly gay. Nevertheless, the wedding presents filled an entire room in Palatine.
As usual, Nero had a careful list of the gifts made and saw to it that every donor received an official letter of thanks. Rumor had it that he had also had a special list drawn up of those senators and knights who had not sent a gift or who on account of illness had not attended the wedding. So, simultaneously with gifts from the provinces, there poured in a number of late presents together with many explanations and apologies. The Jewish Council in Rome sent Poppaea goblets made of gold and decorated with grapes, worth half a million sesterces.
Statues of Poppaea Sabina were erected all over Rome in place of those of Octavia. Tigellinus had the Praetorians guard them day and night so that some people who, in all innocence, wishing to garland them with wreaths received a jab in the face from a shield or a blow from the flat of a sword for their pains.
One night someone pulled a sack over the head of the giant statue of Nero on the Capitoline. The news soon spread all over Rome and everyone realized what lay behind it. According to the laws of our forefathers, a patricide or a matricide shall be drowned in a sack together with a snake, a cat and a cockerel. As far as I know, this was the first time anyone had publicly implied that Nero had killed his mother.
My father-in-law, Flavius Sabinus, was very worried by the oppressive atmosphere which lay over Rome. When he heard that a live adder had been found on one of the marble floors at Palatine, he ordered the police to keep their eyes skinned for every possible demonstration. This was how the wife of a rich senator came to be arrested for carrying her cat with her on her evening walk. A slave on his way to the temple of Aesculapius with a cockerel he was to sacrifice for his master’s health was flogged. This provoked general merriment, although my father-in-law was only acting in good faith, with no ill intentions. Nero, however, was so angry with him that he lost his office for a while.
For all of us who could think reasonably, it was as clear as daylight that the rejection of Octavia was being used as an excuse for a general blackening of Nero’s name in every way. Poppaea Sabina was more beautiful and much cleverer than the fastidious Octavia, although this was her third marriage. But the older generation did everything they could to stir up trouble among the people.
In fact I felt my throat many times during those days and wondered what it would be like to lose one’s head. A military coup was imminent, for the Praetorians did not like Tigellinus, who was of low descent and a former horse dealer, and who maintained discipline ruthlessly. He soon quarreled with his colleague in office, Fenius Rufus, so that they could no longer remain in the same room together. One, usually Rufus, always left.
We who were Nero’s friends and honestly wished him well, gathered at Palatine in a solemn council. Tigellinus was the eldest and the one with the strongest will, so however much we disliked him, we still turned to him and he spoke seriously to Nero.
“Here in the city,” he said, “I can guarantee order and your safety. But in Massilia there is the exiled Sulla who has Antonia’s support. He is poor and prematurely gray from his humiliations. I know from reliable sources that he has connections in noble circles in Gaul, people who admire Antonia because of her own great name and because she is Claudius’ daughter. The legions in Germany are also so near that Sulla’s very presence in Massilia is a danger to the State and the common good.”
Nero admitted this and said in despair, “I cannot imagine why no one loves Poppaea Sabina as I do. At the moment she is in a delicate condition and must not be exposed to the slightest excitement.”
“Plautius is an even greater danger to you,” Tigellinus went on. “It was a great mistake to exile him to Asia, where it was unruly enough without him. His grandfather was a Drusus. Who can guarantee that Corbulo and his legions will remain loyal to you? His father-in-law, Senator Lucius Antistius, has sent one of his freedmen there to urge Plautius to make the most of the opportunity. This I have from trustworthy sources. In addition he is very wealthy, and with an ambitious man, that is just as dangerous as poverty.”
“I know the situation in Asia quite well,” I put in. “I’ve heard that Plautius only keeps company with philosophers. The Etruscan Muso-nius, who is a good friend of the world-famous Apollonius from Tyana, voluntarily went into exile with him.”
Tigellinus struck his hands together triumphantly.
“You see, my lord!” he cried. “Philosophers are the worst advisers of all when they whisper their outrageous views on freedom and tyranny into young men’s ears.”
“Who can even suggest that I am a tyrant?” said Nero indignandy. “I have given the people more freedom than any other ruler before me. And I meekly submit all my proposals to the Senate for their approval.”
We hurriedly assured him that as far as the welfare of the nation was concerned, he was the mildest and most liberal ruler one could imagine. But now it was a matter of what was best for the State and there was nothing more terrible than civil war.
At that moment, Poppaea Sabina came rushing in, scantily dressed, her hair hanging loose and tears pouring down her cheeks. She flung herself down in front of Nero, rubbed her breasts against his knees and pleaded with him.
“I don’t mind for myself,” she said, “or my position, or even for our unborn son, but this is a matter of your life, dearest Nero. Trust Tigellinus. He knows what he is saying.”
Poppaea’s physician had agitatedly followed her in.
“There is a risk of a miscarriage if she does not have peace of mind,” he said, gently trying to disengage her from Nero.
“How can I ever have peace of mind as long as that loathsome woman plots away on Pandataria?” wailed Poppaea. “She has insulted your marriage bed, she practices the worst kind of witchcraft and has several times tried to poison me. I’ve been sick several times today, just because I’m so frightened.”
“He who has once chosen his way can no longer look back,” said Tigellinus with conviction. “I appeal to your magnanimity as our friend, if you won’t think of your own life, Nero. You are putting all our lives in danger with your indecisiveness. The first to be swept away in the coup will be those who wish you well and are not just pressing their own advantage, as Seneca is, for instance. Faced with the inevitable, the gods themselves must bow down.”
Nero’s eyes filled with tears of sorrow.
“Be my witnesses,” he declared, “you who can confirm that this is the most burdensome moment of my life, when my personal feelings must give way for the State and the common good. I comply with what is politically unavoidable.”
Tigellinus’ hard face lit up and he raised his arm in greeting.
“Now you are a true ruler, Nero,” he said. “Trustworthy Praetorians are already on their way to Massilia. I have sent a whole maniple to Asia with the possibility of armed resistance in mind. I could not endure the thought of those who envy you using this opportunity to overthrow you and injure the fatherland.”
Instead of being angry at his high-handedness, Nero let out a sigh of relief and praised him as a true friend. Then he absentmindedly asked how long it took a courier to get to Pandataria.
Only a few days later, Poppaea Sabina asked me secretively, “Would you like to see the best wedding present I’ve had from Nero?”
She led me to her room, lifted a brown-flecked cloth from a willow basket and showed me Octavia’s bloodless head. Screwing up her delightful nose, she said, “Ugh, it’s beginning to smell and collect flies. My physician has ordered me to throw it away, but looking at this wedding present now and again convinces me more than anything else that I really am the Imperial consort.
“Just think,” she went on. “When the Praetorians came to put her in a hot bath so that her veins could be opened painlessly, like a little girl who has broken her doll, she cried, ‘I haven’t done anything.’ She was, after all, twenty years old. But she must have been backward in some way. Who knows with whom Messalina conceived her? Perhaps simply the deranged Claudius.”
