I admit that I occasionally used Claudia’s womanly weakness to silence her eternal talk. I closed her mouth with kisses and caressed her until she could no longer resist the temptation and laughingly threw herself into my arms. But afterwards she was more melancholy than ever and even threatened me with the anger of her half-sister Antonia if I did not expiate my sins by marrying her. As if Antonia’s anger had any political significance any longer.
When we were together in this way, I gave no thought to taking precautions. I knew about Claudia’s experiences in Misenium even if I did not wish to think about them, as I had been in some way responsible. But if I thought about it at all, it was in terms of the proverb which says that no grass grows on public ways.
So my surprise and horror were all the greater when on my return from Ostia one day, Claudia took me secretively to one side and with her eyes shining with pride, whispered in my ear that she was pregnant by me. I did not believe her and said she was a victim of her imagination or of some woman’s sickness. I hastily summoned a Greek physician who had studied in Alexandria, but did not even believe him when he assured me that Claudia had not been wrong. On the contrary, he said, her urine had swiftly caused a grain of oats to germinate, a sure sign of pregnancy.
When I returned home to my house on Aventine one evening, in a reasonable mood and quite unsuspecting, I found in my own reception rooms both Claudius’ daughter, Antonia, and old Paulina, whom I had not seen since my departure to Achaia. She had grown very thin from so much fasting and was still dressed in black as before. Her old eyes shone with a supernatural brilliance.
Antonia presumably felt uncomfortable meeting me, but she retained her haughty poise and held her head high. While I was wondering whether I should offer belated condolences for her husband’s sudden departure, Aunt Paulina suddenly spoke.
“You have neglected your duty to Claudia,” she said sternly. “In the name of Christ, I demand that you immediately undergo legal marriage with her. If you have no fear of God, then you shall fear the Plautians. The reputation of the family is at stake.”
“I cannot admire your behavior toward my half sister,” added Antonia. “Neither would I wish for such an undesirable husband for her. But she is pregnant because you have seduced her, and so it can’t be helped.”
“Do you believe that insane story of her descent too?” I said in surprise. “You, who are a sensible woman. Claudius never legitimatized her.”
“That was for political reasons,” said Antonia. “My father Claudius separated from Plautia Urgulanilla in order to marry my mother, Aelia, who was Sejanus’ adoptive daughter, as you know. Claudia was born five months after the divorce and out of consideration for my mother, Sejanus considered it unsuitable to give her the legal position of daughter of the Emperor. You know how influential Sejanus was then. It was to win his favor that Claudius married my mother. I remember that she many a time deplored my father’s behavior. But there was much talk about Claudia’s mother. I was much too proud even to acknowledge Claudia as my half sister in secret. But there is little left of my pride and so I feel the need to make good the injustice I did Claudia.”
“Have you too become a Christian?” I asked sarcastically.
My question made Antonia blush.
“I am not yet initiated,” she said, “but I allow the slaves in my house to worship Christ. I understand you do the same. And I do not wish the ancient line of Claudians to die out with me. I am prepared to adopt your child if necessary, if you are not content with less. It might give Nero and Poppaea something to think about.”
I realized she was doing this more from hatred for Nero than from love of Claudia.
“On her deathbed,” put in Aunt Paulina now, “Urgulanilla swore the most solemn oath that Claudia was truly Claudius’ daughter. I was not a great friend of Urgulanilla, because of her depraved life in later years. But I do not believe any woman on her deathbed could perjure herself on such a serious matter. The difficulty from the very beginning has been that you who are of the Noble Order of Knights did not consider that you could marry a bastard. For the same reasons and for fear of Claudius, my husband refused to adopt Claudia. But in fact Claudia is legally both a Roman citizen and was born in wedlock. That would be incontestable if she hadn’t been the Emperor’s daughter.”
Claudia now burst out weeping.
“I don’t think my poor father even really hated me,” she cried. “In his weakness he was probably so influenced by the luckless Messalina, and then by the wicked Agrippina, that he dared not acknowledge me as his daughter even if he had wished to. In my heart, I have forgiven him that.”
When I in all seriousness considered the legal complications of the matter, I remembered how ingeniously I had made Jucundus into a Roman citizen by birth.
“Claudia was forced to live hidden in a country town for many years,” I said thoughtfully. “It would not be utterly impossible to have her name put on the roll of citizens in some distant town as daughter of a deceased father A and mother B, if one chose a town in which, for instance, a fire had destroyed the archives. There are millions of citizens in many different countries, and we all know that several unscrupulous immigrant Romans maintain they possess citizenship without being charged, because these things are nowadays difficult to prove otherwise. In that way, I should be able to marry Claudia.”
“Don’t try any alphabets on me,” said Claudia angrily. “My father was Tiberius Claudius Drusus and my mother was Plautia Urgulanilla. But thank you for agreeing to marry me. I accept your word as a proposal. And I have two respected witnesses to your suggestion.”
Paulina and Antonia hurried smilingly to congratulate me. I realized I had fallen into a trap, although I had really only been speaking theoretically about a legal problem. After a brief struggle, we agreed to draw up a document referring to Claudia’s descent, and this Antonia and Paulina would deposit as an unconditionally secret paper in the archives of the Vestals.
We decided that the wedding would take place quietly without sacrifices or festivities, and in the citizens’ roll Claudia’s name would go down as Plautia Claudia Urgulanilla. It was left to me to see to it that the registration authorities did not ask any unnecessary questions. Claudia’s position would in itself not change, for she had already managed my household for a long time.
I agreed to everything with a heavy heart, for I could hardly do otherwise. I was afraid I had now involved myself in a political intrigue against Nero. Aunt Paulina almost certainly had no such idea, but with Antonia it was different.
“I am several years younger than Claudia,” she said finally, “but Nero will not permit me to marry again. No man sufficiently noble would dare to marry me if he remembers what happened to Cornelius Sulla. Perhaps everything would have been different if Sulla had not been such a fumbling idiot. But he could not help himself. So I am glad on Claudia’s behalf that she as an Emperor’s legal daughter may marry, even if in secret. Your cunning, my dear Minutus, your unscrupulous-ness and your wealth will perhaps compensate for the other qualities I should have wished to see in Claudia’s husband. Remember that you are binding yourelf to both the Claudians and the Plautians by this marriage.”
Paulina and Claudia asked us to pray together with them in the name of Christ for the blessing on our marriage. Antonia smiled contemptuously.
“A name is a name,” she said, “if you believe in the power of it. I myself support him because I know how bitterly the Jews hate him. The Jews are in favor at the court at this moment to an intolerable degree. Poppaea helps them into office and Nero showers insane gifts onto a Jewish pantomimic, although he insolently refuses to appear on Saturdays.”
The proud Antonia in her bitterness obviously had no thought for anything but opposing Nero by every means. Even if she had no influence, she could be a dangerous woman. I thanked my stars that she had had the sense to come to my house after dark in a sedan with drawn curtains.
But I was so oppressed that I humbled myself to the extent of taking part in Christian prayers and praying for forgiveness of my sins. I thought that I needed all the heavenly help I could get in this matter. Cephas and Paul and several other holy Christian men had been able to perform miracles on the strength of the name of Jesus of Nazareth. I went so far that together with Claudia, after our guests had gone, I drank from my father’s goblet before we went to bed, for once reconciled with each other.
After that we slept together as if we were already married, and no one in the household took much notice. I cannot deny that my vanity was flattered by sharing my bed with the daughter of an Emperor. So I was attentive to Claudia and submitted myself to her caprices during her pregnancy. The result was that the Christians got a firm foothold in my house. Their cries of praise echoed from morning to night so loudly that our nearest neighbors were
