Domina (Paul Doherty Historical Mysteries) (7 page)

We then solemnly processed to a second pavilion where the tables were even more sumptuously laid out. From the poles hung golden lamps in which burned scented oils. We were crowned with roses and, behind each guest, a slave wafted perfumed feather fans. Sherberts were served, mixed with snow and tinged with the lightest of white wines. Dancers from Antioch entered and performed a sensuous ballet to the lilting tunes of zithers and flutes. The evening became more raucous. Guests got to their feet, staggered outside to be sick and returned to gorge themselves even more. Others helped themselves to the dancers or slave girls. In the corner of the pavilion Otho made noisy love to one of the slave girls whilst another looked on and encouraged the coupling pair. Creperius and Acerronia sat opposite me, both of them deep in their cups. I wondered if their wine had been laced with some potion or powder. I ate and drank nothing. All I was aware of were flushed, sweaty faces, glittering eyes, raucous music and the shouts and cries of the revellers. Like all the guests, I had been searched to ensure I carried no arms but I’d managed to seize a carving knife and place it under my couch. All the time I watched Nero and his mother. Sometimes they kissed, rubbed noses, held each other’s hands. On one occasion Nero shared her couch and laid his head on her breast. I could tell he was playing a part for the onlookers. Now and again Nero would flash a sly smirk at one of his cronies. They, in turn, tried to draw me into conversation, wishing to share a joke or tidbits of gossip from Rome.

Anicetus came and sat on the edge of my couch, cradling his wine cup, his little monkey face wreathed in a shifty grin.

‘You are solemn, Parmenon,’ he slurred.

‘I’m worried, Anicetus.’ I pulled myself further up. ‘Do I need to be worried?’

‘Worried?’ Anicetus mocked. ‘Parmenon, why should you worry? Here is food, wine, music and, above all, the company of your Emperor!’

I smiled at the trap.

‘The Emperor is always in my thoughts,’ I retorted. ‘He is the beginning, end and substance of my being. I am, as you know, the Emperor’s most loyal servant. Do we have anything to fear, Anicetus?’

He rose, tapped me patronisingly on the shoulder and walked away.

A slave girl came up and crouched beside me. She was a mere child really and I could tell from her olive skin and sloe eyes that she was Egyptian. She offered to share my couch, but when I shook my head, she pouted and walked away. My eyes were only for Nero and his mother. The night seemed to drag on for an eternity. At last the wine had its effect: one by one the guests succumbed, sprawled on couches or on the floor. Nero was no different. Agrippina eventually looked in my direction. Just for a moment her mask slipped. Perhaps she’d realised her son’s extravagant praises were as false as they were empty. She smiled, gently extricated herself from her son’s drunken embrace and got to her feet. I accompanied her out into the perfumed darkness.

‘Was there ever such a feast, Parmenon?’ she called out over her shoulder. ‘Was there ever such a son?’

‘Domina!’ I urged, coming up behind her. ‘Domina!’ I hissed, seizing her wrist.

She dragged it away and lifted her hands, fingers splayed. In the light of the torches her eyes had a hard look. She brought her other hand up as if in prayer.

‘Please don’t, Parmenon! Don’t spoil it for me. If I am to go into the dark, let me go happy.’ She touched the side of her head. ‘Let me take my dreams with me.’

And, spinning on her heel, she walked into the night. I trailed behind to make sure but she reached her pavilion safely. The waiting slaves, holding torches, escorted her in. I noticed the guards sheltering under the trees and recalled Burrus’s words, ‘No soldier of mine would draw their sword against the daughter of Germanicus.’ I was about to walk away when I heard a rustling in the bushes and paused.

‘Don’t look round!’ a voice whispered hoarsely. ‘Just listen!’

‘What is it?’ I asked.

‘Don’t talk, just listen!’ The voice paused. ‘“Oak and triple bronze”,’ it whispered, ‘“must have encircled the heart of the man who first committed a frail boat to the cruel sea”.’

I recognised the quotation from one of Horace’s odes.

‘Is that all?’ I called back.

‘“Brute force, without judgement, collapses under its own weight”.’

Another quotation! There was a faint rustling and the mysterious messenger had left. I stood, my hand going to my mouth. That bitch Salvara! She was obviously in Nero’s pay, and had only to wait for Agrippina to send for her. She’d done exactly what that copper-headed monster had told her to. Without her words, Agrippina would never have come to Baiae. Salvara had blinded my mistress, given her false hope, baited the trap and Agrippina had walked straight into it. The two quotations were a warning: put together, it became clear something dreadful was to happen at sea. Even Salvara’s reference to a ‘master of the sea’ agreed with this. An accident, in fact murder, was planned. Once it was over, Salvara’s warnings would be used to demonstrate that Agrippina’s tragic death was fated. Years later, I caught up with the old bitch and cut her throat.

I spent that night tossing and turning. Once it was daylight, I went for a walk in the mist-strewn gardens. The musicians had long retired whilst the slaves and servants were helping themselves to the remains of the feast. Of the revellers there was no sign, but a chamberlain assured me that they had all been carried to their beds. I went across to Agrippina’s villa: she, too, was sleeping.

The rest of that day was what I’d call a ghost day. The sun didn’t show itself till the afternoon. Matters were not helped by an eerie atmosphere in the imperial villa. Nero didn’t appear until, white-faced and red-eyed, he paid a courtesy visit to Agrippina. They cooed and laughed together until he left, saying the bireme would be ready later that day to return my mistress to her villa at Antium.

‘From there,’ Agrippina excitedly explained, ‘I travel to Rome. Apartments have been prepared for me in the Palatine Palace. We’ve had enough of the countryside, eh, Parmenon?’

She gave me a warning look. I nodded and made preparations to leave.

Darkness had fallen by the time we congregated on the beach. Two lines of Praetorians held torches to light the way along the shingle. It was a lovely, cloudless night, with the moon riding high and a stiff sea breeze proving a welcome relief after the perfumed air of the villa. I had not attended the small leaving banquet, which Nero had stated was a private affair. He escorted his mother down to the boat, holding her affectionately by the hand. The rest of the coterie gathered around as Nero embraced his mother, kissing her lips and bosom.

‘These breasts,’ he murmured, ‘once suckled me.’

Members of the court also made their farewells. They all ignored me except Burrus who clasped my hand and wished me health. I was about to pull away when he dragged me closer.

‘“With you”,’ he whispered, ‘“I would willingly live! With you I would willingly die!”’

I couldn’t make out his face in the darkness yet I recognised this further quotation from Horace. Danger was all about us.

‘
Iacta alea est
!’ I replied. ‘The die is cast!’

I joined Agrippina and the rest as we were taken out to the waiting bireme. I clambered aboard and stared around. The ship seemed seaworthy enough but no Praetorians were present and the captain and the pilot were not dressed in their usual uniform but in simple tunics and sandals. I glanced back towards the beach, where a ring of torches surrounded the would-be murderers. Even before it happened, I knew where the danger would come from. Agrippina stood in the prow, eyes fixed on the shore. Nero called out something. The breeze caught his words but it didn’t conceal the mocking laughter. Agrippina blew kisses and walked away to take her place on a couch under an awning in the stern.

Orders were rapped out, and the ship glided silently round. The slop of oars sliced the water rhythmically, each stroke measured by the captain marking the time. A breeze wafted across to us the smell of pines and perfume. The bireme picked up speed, cutting through the water. As the torchlight on the beach disappeared, a strange silence descended. Agrippina lay on the couch under the awning, with Acerronia kneeling on one side, and Creperius on the other. I walked along the ship, my eyes searching every corner. I could see nothing wrong. Had it been built to capsize? But that would endanger the lives of the crew as well. Were they in the plot?

‘Parmenon!’ Agrippina called. ‘Stop stalking like a cat, you are making me nervous.’

I ignored her. She called again, as I climbed the steps to where the captain and pilot stood. I tried to engage them in conversation, but they busied themselves about their duties. I walked to the rail and stared at the approaching bank of mist.

‘Why did no Praetorians accompany us?’ I asked. ‘A guard of honour?’

‘I don’t know. I was just given my orders,’ the captain grumbled.

I left the platform and went down the steps. Agrippina and Acerronia were discussing the events of the night before. Now and again Domina would break off to give instructions to Creperius over what to pack when they left for Rome. She was annoyed with me. I still felt tense at the sense of pressing danger. I looked up, to see that the captain had moved to the rail, and was staring out into the night. He carried a lantern lashed to a pole. Was he signalling?

‘Domina!’ I hissed.

‘Parmenon, either be sick, go to sleep, or sit down!’

The sea breeze shifted. I heard a slight creak, and the sound of oars. The captain on the bridge was waving the lantern. I raced up the steps and ran to the rail, staring out into the night. As the mist parted, I gasped in terror. A huge warship, a massive trireme, oars out, its prow carved in the shape of the cruel face of an eagle, was bearing down, intent on ramming the bireme.

‘Agrippina!’ I screamed.

Commotion broke out below, where some of the rowers had now glimpsed the monster which was about to smash us. I heard a sound behind and turned, drawing my dagger. Without hesitation, I thrust it straight into the pilot’s stomach. The half-raised club dropped from his hand as he slumped, choking on his blood. The captain lunged, flinging the lantern at me. I ducked to one side and lashed out with the dagger, cutting a deep jagged slash across his chest. I ran down the steps, but it was too late: the trireme struck us with a mighty crash. The awning covering Agrippina collapsed, and one of the poles dealt Creperius an ugly blow on the side of his head. I could do little for him. I pulled the awning up and dragged Agrippina from her couch. Acerronia was screaming, and I slapped her on the face, pulling her to the side. Figures loomed out of the darkness. The trireme was now pushing the bireme, threatening to either tip it over or crush it beneath its weight. The night air was rent with screams. I ripped Agrippina’s stola from her shoulders, pushed to the side of the bireme, already dangerously low in the water, and tipped her over. Acerronia and I joined her in the cold water.

‘Swim!’ I screamed.

Agrippina needed no second bidding. Light and swift as a dolphin, she struck out, putting as much distance between herself and the sinking bireme as possible. I followed, but Acerronia, behind me, was spluttering and calling out. Agrippina was a splendid swimmer, but Acerronia was not. I glanced back, saw lantern lights and heard the calls of officers on the trireme. Treading water, I saw Acerronia panic. She swam back towards the trireme, straight into the pool of light thrown by the torches and lanterns.

‘Help me!’ she screamed. ‘Help! I am the Empress!’

An oar moved towards her: the usual tactic employed to drag a man from the sea. Acerronia swam towards it. The oar moved viciously like a club and, instead of allowing Acerronia to grasp it, struck her viciously on the side of the head. Acerronia spun round. For a few seconds I glimpsed her white face above the water before she sank. Agrippina was calling out to me. I swam in the direction of her voice.

‘An accident?’ she spluttered.

‘Murder,’ I replied.

I seized her by the arm, allowing the waves to float us away from the trireme. I stared out, but the bank of mist had now thickened. I caught glimpses of distant lights and recalled that the pearl fishermen often came out here at night. I struck out in their direction, Agrippina following. The fishermen already knew something was wrong. As one of their craft, a torch in its prow, came thrusting through the water towards us, we called out. Voices replied. I grasped an oar, making sure Agrippina did likewise and strong burly hands plucked us from the sea.

The oyster men had no idea whom they had picked up, until Agrippina stretched out her hand, displaying the imperial ring. She was nursing a wounded shoulder and a cut to her cheek, but the physical wounds were nothing to those inflicted on her soul. She sat in the boat, a haggard, ageing woman, dripping with sea water, staring sightlessly into the darkness. I bribed the fishermen with some of the coins I still had in a purse stitched to my belt to cross the bay into the Lucrine Lake. They happily agreed, navigating its narrow channel and crossing a sand bar which protected us against pursuit. We landed safely, and, half-carrying Agrippina, I staggered along the beach and up the trackway to her own villa. I aroused the servants, who took one look at Agrippina and knew what had happened. Even as I shouted orders, most of them backed away, owl-eyed, pale-faced, and within the hour most of them had fled. I placed Agrippina in the triclinium and brought metal dishes full of burning charcoal, towels, napkins and heavy military cloaks from the stores. I made her strip off, then dried and changed her before wrapping a blanket round her. I warmed some wine and forced her to drink. The villa fell quiet except for the occasional patter of feet, and the howling of a dog. Agrippina sipped at the wine before being violently sick. I moved her to another part of the room, where we sat on stools.