Текст книги "Empire"

Автор книги: Steven Saylor

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“Gaius Silius?”

“Dead, by his own hand.”

“And… her lovers?”

“Yes, her lovers. Her many, many lovers!” Claudius toyed with the feather, pulling his fingers down the shaft to tatter the vane. The blood on his fingertips he wiped on his toga, where the purple wool absorbed it without a trace. “Come with me, Titus. I need at least one p-p-person in the room whom I can trust.”

One by one the lovers were paraded before Claudius to make their confessions and receive his judgement.

Claudius sat on a throne-like chair on a raised dais. Praetorian guards were stationed at either side of him and at various places around the room. Titus stood on the dais beside Claudius and next to one of the Praetorians, a hulking brute who stank of garlic. Physicians claimed that eating garlic gave a man strength, and to judge by the muscles on this specimen, they were right.

Claudius’s most trusted freedman, Narcissus, oversaw the proceedings. He was a quintessential imperial bureaucrat, fussy about his appearance, snappish with underlings, wheedling but insistent with his master. As each of the accused men was shown into the chamber, it was Narcissus who read the charges and conducted the interrogation.

Some of the men complained that they had been blackmailed into submission by Messalina. Others openly admitted that they had sought her sexual favours. Some begged for mercy, while others said nothing. It made no difference; when the moment came for Narcissus to ask the emperor for his judgement, Claudius looked each man in the eye and declared, “G-g-guilty!”

Most of the men were citizens, and had the right to die by beheading, the fastest, least painful, and most dignified form of execution. But a few of the accused were foreign-born; they could expect to be beaten to death, strangled, or perhaps thrown to wild animals. There were also slaves among the accused, most of them from the imperial household but some belonging to outsiders; rather than charge them with committing adultery – the idea that another man’s slave might have copulated with the emperor’s wife was too scandalous to contemplate – Narcissus accused the slaves of colluding with Messalina and assisting her conspiracy. Their punishment would be crucifixion. They’ll die like Kaeso’s so-called god, on a cross, thought Titus, touching his breast and wishing he had the fascinum to protect him.

The number of Messalina’s lovers was staggering, and the repetition of the process was numbing. Titus would gladly have fled, but he had no choice but to see and hear everything. His cousin wanted him to act as mute witness to an ordeal that was almost as painful and degrading for Claudius as it was for the accused.

Or was Claudius playing a cruel game with him? If Narcissus and his agents had uncovered Messalina’s dalliances with all these other men, how had they failed to identify Titus? At any moment, Titus half expected to hear Narcissus call his name, to feel the hands of the garlic-stinking Praetorian upon him, and to be thrust before Claudius to beg for his life.

Could Claudius be that devious? He seemed to have become more simpleminded as he had grown older, but perhaps that was merely the ruse of a truly ingenious mind. Titus looked sidelong at his cousin, who was wiping a bit of drool from his mouth, and tried to imagine him not as the rather sad fool he appeared to be but as a master manipulator. Claudius not only had outlived virtually everyone else in his family but had managed to become emperor. Was his survival the result of blind chance, or careful design?

Yet if any proof of Claudius’s blindness was required, surely it was the spectacle taking place before them, as one lover after another was produced to demonstrate just how unaware Claudius had been.

Narcissus called out the name of the next man to face judgement: “Bring forth Mnester!”

Titus’s heart skipped a beat. Claudius groaned.

Mnester’s golden hair was mussed and he wore only a brief, sleeveless sleeping tunic, as if he had just been pulled from his bed. His eyes were wide with fright as he peered around the room. Titus took a couple of steps back and to the side, concealing himself as best he could behind the hulking Praetorian. Had Mnester seen him already? Titus thought not. He held his breath.

Narcissus read the charges: numerous counts of adultery with the emperor’s wife and taking part in a criminal conspiracy to kill the emperor.

Claudius was close to tears. “Mnester, how c-c-could you?”

“But, Caesar, you yourself ordered me to submit to her.”

Claudius looked baffled. “Did I?”

“Do you not recall? I tried to resist her, and I begged you to take my side, but you ordered me to do whatever she commanded, no matter how degrading. You said those very words to me: ‘You must do anything she asks.’ And as a result you can see for yourself how I’ve suffered!”

Mnester lurched forward and dropped to his knees. Titus gave a jerk, for suddenly he was visible to Mnester, but the actor kept his face down and his eyes averted as he pulled his tunic over his head. He was not wearing a loincloth. Naked, he prostrated himself before Claudius, showing the lash marks across his broad back.

Mnester was racked by sobs. “Do you see how she mistreats me, Caesar? Many times, I wanted to come to you and complain, but I was too afraid of her. Afraid for my very life, Caesar!”

Mnester had not seemed very frightened when Titus had last seen him naked; indeed, the actor had seemed an eager participant in everything that had happened. But even though Titus saw through the lie, he was moved by the man’s lament. Mnester was a superb actor, and this was the performance of his life. The tears that streamed from his eyes were real, and so were the fiery red lash marks across the rippling muscles of his back.

Claudius was unnerved. He put one hand to his mouth and shook his head. His eyes glistened with tears.

Mnester glanced up. Titus saw the flash of hope in his eyes. “Please, Caesar, I have been foully used, degraded, humiliated, made the plaything of a woman who had the power of life and death over me. Have pity on me, I beg you! Banish me from Roma, send me to the wilderness, but spare my life!”

“She used you, yes,” muttered Claudius, “just as she used me.”

Titus looked sidelong at Claudius and saw that his cousin was completely dazzled by the performance. Titus saw the contrast between the two men and at the same time he grasped the connection between them: the aging, hunched emperor gazed raptly at Mnester as if the handsome, prostrate figure before him were the idealized personification of his own suffering. Was this not the highest achievement an actor could attain?

Titus stepped farther behind the Praetorian, but not before Mnester’s eyes met his. It was only a brief look, but Titus was certain that Mnester recognized him, and in the other man’s eyes Titus saw his own doom. Mnester began to raise one hand, as if to point in accusation. Titus felt as if the floor lurched beneath him. His face turned hot and his heart pounded.

“Remember the auspices!” Titus whispered.

Claudius twitched his head to one side. “What’s that?”

“Remember the auspices, Caesar. The gods demand justice.”

Claudius slowly nodded his head. He called Narcissus to him and spoke in his ear. Narcissus crossed the room and spoke to the Praetorians at the door.

Mnester remained on the floor, his face and chest wet with tears but with the faint intimation of a smile at the corner of his mouth. It was the face of an actor at the end of a tragic play, exhausted by the role and still immersed in the cathartic moment, but ready to receive the accolades of the audience. He thought he had won Claudius’s pardon.

In the next moment he was made aware of his mistake. Praetorians surrounded him. One of them produced a leather strap attached at both ends to an iron rod. While two men held Mnester to keep him from struggling free, the strangling device was slipped over his head. Only two twists of the rod were required to sufficiently tighten the strap. Mnester’s face turned a vivid shade of red, then purple. His eyes bulged. Mucus erupted from his nose. His tongue protruded from his mouth. The only noise he made sounded disconcertingly like the squeaking of a mouse.

The man holding the rod gave it another full twist. Every part of Mnester’s body convulsed, so violently that the Praetorians barely maintained their hold. Then Mnester went limp.

His body was dragged from the room. Narcissus called a slave to clean the floor where Mnester had emptied his bladder. The slave used Mnester’s discarded sleeping tunic as a mop.

“Are there m-m-more?” said Claudius in a hollow voice.

“Yes,” said Narcissus. “Several more.”

Claudius shook his head. “No more today. I’m tired. And hungry.”

“As you wish, Caesar. I’ll see that your dinner is made ready.”

“Cousin Titus will d-d-dine with me.”

Titus suppressed a groan. “If you’d rather be alone-”

“Oh, no, I insist. Run along, Narcissus. We’ll catch up.” He turned to Titus. “Thank you, cousin.”

“For what?”

“For helping me keep my nerve. I almost lost it. Mnester had to be p-p-punished.”

“Still, Caesar, there was no need for you to witness the unpleasantness.”

“No? Mnester betrayed me. He deserved to d-d-die. But his acting gave me great pleasure over the years. I owed it to him to witness his final performance.”

At dinner, Titus was the only guest. He said little. It was Claudius who filled the silence as he rambled from one topic to another, from the military situation in Britannia – conquered but still undergoing pacification by the general Vespasian – to his anger at the Jews, and all the trouble their religious fanaticism was causing, not just in their homeland but in Roma and Alexandria and every other city where their numbers were significant.

Claudius seemed completely disconnected from the events of the day. Titus could think of nothing else. A part of him remained braced for some terrible surprise.

He kept seeing Mnester’s face at the end. If Titus had said nothing, would Mnester still be alive? Titus had merely reminded Claudius of the auspices. Why did he feel a need to justify himself? Everyone else manipulated Claudius to gain his own ends. Titus had done so to save his own life.

Narcissus announced that a messenger had arrived with news about Messalina.

“Yes, where is she?” said Claudius, his voice slurred by wine. “Why is she not here for d-d-dinner?”

Titus felt a sinking sensation.

Claudius continued to eat. Chewing on a chicken bone, he said, “Well, Narcissus?”

“Messalina is dead, Caesar.”

Claudius sat back, looking baffled. He blinked a few times, gave a twitch of his head, then shrugged. He reached for his cup and drank more wine. He picked up another piece of chicken.

Narcissus waited, ready to be asked for more information. Claudius said nothing. Eventually, Narcissus cleared his throat and recounted the details. “Caesar’s agents surrounded her apartments in the Gardens of Lucullus. Her slaves offered no resistance. She was given a knife and offered the opportunity to take her own life. She announced that she would do so, but she lacked the courage. When she faltered, one of Caesar’s agents took the knife from her and finished the job.”

Messalina, stabbed to death! Titus was stunned by the enormity of it.

Claudius took a bite of chicken and chewed for a long time, staring into the distance.

“Does Caesar have any further orders?” asked Narcissus.

“Orders? Yes, Tell the b-b-boy to bring more wine.” He turned to Titus. “You are a good man, cousin. A man I can trust! Do you know, I think I shall make you a senator. Your grandfather was a senator, wasn’t he? We lost a few senators today and they’ll need to be replaced. How would you like that?” Claudius nodded thoughtfully. “I shall make you a senator on one condition: if I should ever think of m-m-marrying again, you must stop me. You will put it to a vote and have me stripped of my office. If I should ever so much as m-m-mention m-m-marriage, I give you and the other senators permission to kill me on the spot and put an old fool out of his misery!”

After dinner, Claudius bade Titus good night and retired. The same courier who had fetched Titus earlier reappeared to escort him out of the imperial house. They passed through the room where Titus had waited. Something was different.

“The statues,” he said. “Where are they?”

“What statues?” said the courier, looking straight ahead.

“The statues of Messalina and Mnester.”

“I don’t recall any such statues in this room,” said the courier.

“But you told me that story, about how the coins of Caligula had been melted down…”

The courier shrugged and quickened his pace.

Even the pedestals were gone, and the green marble floor beneath had been polished to show no trace. The images of Messalina and Mnester had vanished as if they had never existed.

AD 51

The weather was mild for mid-December. A crowd of dignitaries and members of the imperial household stood around the perimeter of the Auguratorium on the Palatine. The occasion was the fourteenth birthday of young Nero, the son of Agrippina, grandson of Germanicus, great-greatgrandson of Augustus, and great-nephew and now adopted son of Claudius. Titus Pinarius was present, wearing his trabea rather than his purple-bordered senatorial toga and carrying his lituus. He was to perform the augury for the young man’s toga day, his passage to manhood.

Chrysanthe was among the guests, looking beautiful as always and only slightly uncomfortable in the company of the Roman-born matrons, who would always think of her as an Alexandrian. She devoted most of her attention to their son, Lucius, who at four was deemed by Titus to be old enough and sufficiently well behaved to attend such a ceremony and watch his father at work.

While he waited to be called upon, Titus surveyed the crowd. Many of the women were dazzling in their finery, but none stood out more than Nero’s mother. At thirty-six, Agrippina was still a strikingly attractive woman. Her hair was parted in the middle; long curls streamed like ribbons on either side and were gathered by a purple-and-gold fillet at the back of her head. Her stola was a garment of numerous layers and folds, woven of a fabric of many colours. Her beaming smile showed her prominent canine teeth – a sign of good luck, many believed. Fortune had certainly smiled on Agrippina in recent years.

Despite his vow never to marry again after his humiliation by Messalina, Claudius almost immediately married Agrippina. It seemed the widower felt incomplete without a strong-willed and beautiful woman to manipulate him. Claudius’s choice of a bride had scandalized the city, since marriage between an uncle and a niece was incest. To forestall the fears of the populace that some supernatural calamity might result, Claudius had called on Titus to look for omens and precedents that favoured his marriage to Agrippina, and Titus had obliged. Agrippina was grateful for this service. Titus’s prestigious role at this day’s event was the latest proof of her favour.

Fortune had not always smiled on Agrippina. The untimely deaths of her parents, her humiliating exile under Caligula, the loss of two husbands – she had endured all these trials and emerged triumphant. She had even outwitted the machinations of Messalina – for most people now agreed that it was Agrippina and her son who had been threatened by the jealousy of Messalina, and not the reverse. It was said that Messalina had once sent an assassin to kill Nero in his crib, but the man had been frightened off by a snake in the baby’s bed – actually the skin of a snake, placed there by his clever and vigilant mother. Agrippina had become a stirring exemplar of Roman womanhood. She had survived every setback, and her marriage to her uncle Claudius had made her the most powerful woman in Roma.

Also in attendance was the nine-year-old son of Claudius and Messalina, Britannicus. He was dressed in the old-fashioned long-sleeved tunic still worn by many patrician boys. His hair was long and unkempt. He seemed a bit shy and standoffish, observing the proceedings with a lowered brow and sidelong glances. What sort of fellow would he grow up to be? wondered Titus, trying to imagine a combination of his wildly different parents. What must the boy’s life be like these days, three years after the terrible death of his disgraced mother? Claudius had once been a doting father, but it seemed to Titus that he now neglected the boy. No doubt Britannicus reminded Claudius of Messalina. How did Claudius feel about a son who looked so much like the woman who had made a fool of him, and had been put to death on his orders?

Certainly Agrippina had no love for Britannicus. She had not only persuaded Claudius to adopt Nero, making him first in line of inheritance ahead of Britannicus, but had arranged for Nero to be recognized as an adult a full year earlier than was traditional – a young man’s toga day was usually between his fifteenth and seventeenth years – so that he could begin accumulating the honours and rewards of a public career. This was clearly in service to her agenda of elevating her son, but there was also a sound political argument for advancing Nero as quickly as possible. As long as Claudius had no adult heir, potential rivals might be encouraged to plot against him. And if Claudius should die, an orphaned Britannicus would be highly vulnerable, while Nero was just old enough, especially with his mother behind him, to act as a plausible ruler. Also to his advantage was the fact that Nero was the direct descendant of the Divine Augustus.

Neglected though he might be, young Britannicus was not alone. With him was his constant companion, a boy a year or so older, Titus Flavius Vespasian, son of the general of the same name. Titus had been brought up alongside Britannicus, with the same teachers and athletic instructors. The boy’s bright smile and outgoing personality presented a contract to Britannicus’s withdrawn, almost furtive manner.

The elder Vespasian was also present, along with his wife, who held their newborn son. In his early forties, Vespasian was a veteran of thirty battles in the newly conquered province of Britannia. His victories had earned him a public triumph in which young Titus had ridden alongside him in the chariot, and he had been rewarded with a consulship, the highest office to which a citizen could aspire. With a large nose, a mouth too small for his fleshy face, and a heavy, furrowed brow, Vespasian was not handsome; he had the perpetual expression of a man straining to empty his bowels. His family fortune had started with his father, a tax collector in the province of Asia, but the Flavians were otherwise obscure. Behind his back, members of the imperial court complained of Vespasian’s uncouth manners and flagrant social climbing. To Titus Pinarius, on the few occasions when they had spoken, Vespasian had seemed forthright and without pretense, as befitted a military man. It did not seem quite proper that Vespasian should have brought his two-month-old infant to such a ceremony, but clearly the general was eager to show the child off. To everyone who greeted him he insisted on introducing “the newest addition to the Flavians, my little Domitian.”

Titus’s gaze returned to the youth who was donning the toga of manhood that day. He found Nero to quite charming and surprisingly self-possessed for his age. At fourteen, he was a connoisseur of painting and sculpture, wrote poetry, and loved horses. He was tall but had an ungainly physique. A boy’s long-sleeved tunic had not been flattering to Nero’s thick neck, stocky trunk, and bony legs; he looked better in his purple-and-gold toga. His blonde hair glinted in the sunlight, and his flashing blue eyes were wide, taking in the scene. Nero enjoyed being the centre of attention.

Standing beside him was the young man’s adoptive father. Claudius looked more decrepit than ever. The poor fellow had never been the same after his discovery of Messalina’s bigamy and the bloodbath that followed. Titus still felt a chill when he remembered how Claudius had expected Messalina at dinner on the very night that he ordered her death. And on the morning that followed, Claudius sent messages to some of the executed men inviting them to play dice, and complained when they didn’t come. He sent petulant messages accusing them of staying abed and being too lazy to reply. “Sleepy-heads,” he called them, forgetting that by his order they had lost their heads altogether.

On the other side of Nero stood his tutor, Lucius Annaeus Seneca, a bearded man in his forties, wearing a senator’s purple-bordered toga. Seneca was an accomplished man of letters, famous for his many books and plays. Messalina had talked Claudius into exiling Seneca, but Agrippina had arranged for his return, and had charged Seneca with giving Nero the most refined education possible.

The ceremony commenced. When the time arrived for the taking of the auspices, all eyes turned to Titus. He began with a short speech about the subject of his augury, whose full name, since his adoption by the emperor, was Nero Claudius Caesar Drusus Germanicus.

“As many of you know, the name Nero comes from an old Sabine word meaning ‘strong and valiant,’ and those who have seen this young man perform on horseback and wield arms in the Troy Pageant know that he is worthy of his name,” said Titus. The appreciative applause for this pretty turn of phrase was cut short by a sudden outburst of crying from Vespasian’s newborn. Titus frowned. The baby’s wailing grew louder, until at last his mother carried little Domitian away. Vespasian, who seemed unperturbed by the interruption, wriggled his fingers at the departing infant.

Titus loudly cleared his throat and proceeded.

With his lituus he marked a segment of the sky. At midwinter, with few birds in Roma, patience might be required for the observation, but almost at once Titus saw a pair of vultures. They were quite far away, circling above the private racetrack Caligula had built for himself beyond the Tiber on the Vatican Hill. Titus waited, hoping to see more, but eventually he felt the crowd grow restive. He declared the auspices well and truly taken and announced that they were very good. In fact, the auspices had been only mildly favourable, almost non-committal. Claudius, standing behind him and able to see what Titus saw, would have known this, had he been watching; but when Titus glanced over his shoulder, he saw the emperor staring at the ground.

There were more speeches, and then Nero was called on to parade before the assembly wearing his toga. He did so with a swagger that was almost comical. (Titus was reminded of Messalina’s derisive comment: “What a little showman!”) No one laughed, though it seemed to Titus that Vespasian might have smirked; with his expression of perpetual constipation, it was hard to tell. At last the company retired to the imperial residence for the banquet, passing the armour of the Divine Augustus in the forecourt and the ancient laurel trees that flanked the massive bronze doors.

“Just how old is the emperor?” Chrysanthe asked Titus, after they had settled onto their couches and been served the first course of olives stuffed with anchovies. She was gazing at Claudius, who shared a couch with Agrippina across the room.

Titus calculated in his head. “Sixty-one, I think. Why do you ask?”

“When we first came to Roma ten years ago, I thought he was old then, but he was so much more alive. Remember how excited he was to show us the city? Now he seems withered, like a tree that’s had its roots cut and might fall at any moment.”

“All his drinking doesn’t help,” noted Titus as he watched a serving boy refill the emperor’s cup. Chrysanthe was right. His cousin was more doddering than ever. What a contrast Agrippina presented. She was positively effervescent, smiling and laughing and entertaining everyone in earshot with a very witty anecdote, to judge by the laughter she elicited. Nero reclined on his own couch nearby and gazed at his mother adoringly.

While Titus watched, Agrippina gestured to Nero. Obeying her request, the young man pulled back a fold of his purple toga to bare his right arm. Coiled like a snake around his biceps was a golden bracelet. Agrippina’s listeners nodded and made appreciative sounds.

“What’s that about?” asked Titus.

“He’s showing off his snake bracelet,” explained Chrysanthe. “Half the children in the city wear a bracelet like that now, though not made of solid gold. Inside that bracelet is the snakeskin that scared off an assassin sent by Messalina when Nero was in his crib. He wears the bracelet to show gratitude and devotion to his mother, and they say the snakeskin still protects him. Do you think we should have such a bracelet make for little Lucius?” Their son was in another room with his nurse, eating with the other children.

“Perhaps,” said Titus, though it occurred to him that a more appropriate talisman for his son would be the fascinum of their ancestors. Why had he allowed Kaeso to take it? Titus realized that he was clenching his teeth. He drove thoughts of his brother from his mind, refusing to let them spoil such a joyous occasion.

As the meal progressed and more wine flowed, guests began to move about the room, standing in small groups or sharing couches while they conversed. Titus worked his way to Nero’s couch. Agrippina stood nearby, as did Seneca. Standing next to Seneca was a woman about half his age, his wife, Pompeia Paulina.

“Teach my son all the poetry and rhetoric and history you want, I told Seneca, but no philosophy!” Agrippina was saying. “All those notions about Fate and free will and the slippery nature of reality – perhaps they’re amusing for people who have nothing better to think about, but they can be nothing but a handicap to a person like my son, who must be ready to assume such a heavy burden of responsibility.”

“It’s true,” said Seneca. He had grown a beard in exile and kept it on his return; it made him look more like a philosopher than a senator. “Poetry gives consolation to the powerful-”

“While philosophy gives consolation to the powerless?” said Titus.

Seneca smiled. “Greeting, Titus Pinarius. Though I suppose I should address you as Senator Pinarius now.”

“Or address him as augur; that’s Pinarius’s special calling, and the one he performed today was splendid,” said Agrippina. “But you must excuse me while I attend to another matter. There’s to be an entertainment later, and I’m told the flute player and the dancing girl have both gone missing.”

Titus watched her leave, then turned to Seneca and his wife. “Speaking of entertainment, is it true that Nero will be singing a song which he composed especially for the occasion?”

“Of course not!” Seneca made a face. “Nero composed a song, to be sure; it’s a meditation on the virtues of his great-great-grandfather, the Divine Augustus, entirely appropriate for the occasion. But the song will be sung by a young freedman, a trained performer.”

“Is Nero a poor singer, then?”

Seneca and his young wife exchanged glances. He had married Paulina when she was very young and she had shared the years of his exile. Having no other student at hand, it was said that Seneca had taught his wife philosophy. Despite her youth, Paulina was probably the best-educated woman in Roma.

“Nero’s voice is not… unpleasant,” said Paulina. She was evidently being generous.

“But his talent as a singer is irrelevant,” added Seneca. “It would never do for a son of the emperor to perform as a mere actor before an audience. The very idea is vulgar.”

“Then I suppose I shall never have the pleasure of hearing Nero sing,” said Titus. “Still, I’ll look forward to hearing his composition. When it comes to writing, he certainly couldn’t ask for a better teacher than you. I was present at the recent gathering where your play about Oedipus was read aloud. Such powerful language! Such unforgettable images!”

“Thank you, Senator Pinarius.” Seneca beamed. “Nero also appreciated that play. His tastes are quite sophisticated. But he still requires instruction in matters of… propriety. The boy wanted to recite the role of Oedipus, if you can imagine that. The son of an emperor, playing the role of an incestuous parricide! I’ve tried to explain to him that emperors simply cannot be actors, yet he still talks about taking a part in the new play I’m working on, about Thyestes. I hope to have it ready for a recitation during the upcoming festivities attending Nero’s election to the consulship.”

“Doesn’t a consul have to be at least twenty years old?”

“Yes, but there is no law that says a man cannot be elected at fourteen and enjoy the privileges of a consul-elect until he reaches the age of twenty. I’m sure we can count on your vote to ratify his selection, Senator Pinarius?”

Titus nodded, acquiescing to this slippery bit of constitutional logic. Seneca was a politician after all, not just a philosopher.

“Anyway,” Seneca went on, “during the play to celebrate his election, I can assure you the consul-elect will be in the audience, not on the stage.”

Titus nodded. “A play about Thyestes, you say? Wasn’t he the Greek king tricked into eating his own sons?”

Seneca was about to bite into a pastry, but lowered the delicacy from his lips. “Yes. Thyestes’ brother, King Atreus, baked the boys in a pie, fed them to their unsuspecting father, then showed their heads to poor Thyestes. But Thyestes exacted a terrible revenge.”

“As they always do in these Greek tales,” added his wife. Paulina gave Titus a quizzical look. “Thyestes and Atreus were twins, they say. You have a twin brother, don’t you, Senator Pinarius?”

Titus frowned. After a long spell of not thinking about Kaeso, twice within an hour his brother had been called to his mind. He changed the subject back to Seneca’s work. “Oedipus and Thyestes – such grim stories.”

“I draw inspiration from the old Greek playwrights, especially Euripides. Despite the antiquity of his subject matter, his outlook is remarkably modern; the darkness and violence of his stories resonate with present-day Romans. Then there is my own experience of life, which has not been without tribulation. I was forced into a premature retirement by Caligula, thanks to his insane suspicions. I was brought back to favour by Claudius, and then sent into exile again for eight years, thanks to Messalina’s scheming. Now I’m back again, thanks to Agrippina, and I’ve been welcomed in the very heart of the imperial household. Agrippina is my deus ex machina, my Athena appearing at the last moment in the play, descending from the sky to restore harmony to the cosmos.”