DOMINA
PAUL DOHERTY
headline
Copyright © 2002 Paul Doherty
The right of Paul Doherty to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
Apart from any use permitted under UK copyright law, this publication may only be reproduced, stored, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, with prior permission in writing of the publishers or, in the case of reprographic production, in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency.
First published as an Ebook by Headline Publishing Group in 2012
All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
eISBN 978 0 7553 5049 0
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Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Letter to the reader
About the Author
Also by Paul Doherty
Praise for Paul Doherty
Dedication
Principal Characters
Principal Events
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
AUTHOR’S NOTE
History has always fascinated me. I see my stories as a time machine. I want to intrigue you with a murderous mystery and a tangled plot, but I also want you to experience what it was like to slip along the shadow-thronged alleyways of medieval London; to enter a soaringly majestic cathedral but then walk out and glimpse the gruesome execution scaffolds rising high on the other side of the square. In my novels you will sit in the oaken stalls of a gothic abbey and hear the glorious psalms of plain chant even as you glimpse white, sinister gargoyle faces peering out at you from deep cowls and hoods. Or there again, you may ride out in a chariot as it thunders across the Redlands of Ancient Egypt or leave the sunlight and golden warmth of the Nile as you enter the marble coldness of a pyramid’s deadly maze. Smells and sounds, sights and spectacles will be conjured up to catch your imagination and so create times and places now long gone. You will march to Jerusalem with the first Crusaders or enter the Colosseum of Rome, where the sand sparkles like gold and the crowds bay for the blood of some gladiator. Of course, if you wish, you can always return to the lush dark greenness of medieval England and take your seat in some tavern along the ancient moon-washed road to Canterbury and listen to some ghostly tale which chills the heart . . . my books will take you there then safely bring you back!
The periods that have piqued my interest and about which I have written are many and varied. I hope you enjoy the read and would love to hear your thoughts – I always appreciate any feedback from readers. Visit my publisher’s website here: www.headline.co.uk and find out more. You may also visit my website: www.paulcdoherty.com or email me on: [email protected].
Paul Doherty
About the Author
Paul Doherty is one of the most prolific, and lauded, authors of historical mysteries in the world today. His expertise in all areas of history is illustrated in the many series that he writes about, from the Mathilde of Westminster series, set at the court of Edward II, to the Amerotke series, set in Ancient Egypt. Amongst his most memorable creations are Hugh Corbett, Brother Athelstan and Roger Shallot.
Paul Doherty was born in Middlesbrough. He studied history at Liverpool and Oxford Universities and obtained a doctorate at Oxford for his thesis on Edward II and Queen Isabella. He is now headmaster of a school in north-east London and lives with his wife and family near Epping Forest.
Also by Paul Doherty
Mathilde of Westminster
THE CUP OF GHOSTS
THE POISON MAIDEN
THE DARKENING GLASS
Sir Roger Shallot
THE WHITE ROSE MURDERS
THE POISONED CHALICE
THE GRAIL MURDERS
A BROOD OF VIPERS
THE GALLOWS MURDERS
THE RELIC MURDERS
Templar
THE TEMPLAR
THE TEMPLAR MAGICIAN
Mahu (The Akhenaten trilogy)
AN EVIL SPIRIT OUT OF THE WEST
THE SEASON OF THE HYAENA
THE YEAR OF THE COBRA
Canterbury Tales by Night
AN ANCIENT EVIL
A TAPESTRY OF MURDERS
A TOURNAMENT OF MURDERS
GHOSTLY MURDERS
THE HANGMAN’S HYMN
A HAUNT OF MURDER
Egyptian Mysteries
THE MASK OF RA
THE HORUS KILLINGS
THE ANUBIS SLAYINGS
THE SLAYERS OF SETH
THE ASSASSINS OF ISIS
THE POISONER OF PTAH
THE SPIES OF SOBECK
Constantine the Great
DOMINA
MURDER IMPERIAL
THE SONG OF THE GLADIATOR
THE QUEEN OF THE NIGHT
MURDER’S IMMORTAL MASK
Hugh Corbett
SATAN IN ST MARY’S
THE CROWN IN DARKNESS
SPY IN CHANCERY
THE ANGEL OF DEATH
THE PRINCE OF DARKNESS
MURDER WEARS A COWL
THE ASSASSIN IN THE GREENWOOD
THE SONG OF A DARK ANGEL
SATAN’S FIRE
THE DEVIL’S HUNT
THE DEMON ARCHER
THE TREASON OF THE GHOSTS
CORPSE CANDLE
THE MAGICIAN’S DEATH
THE WAXMAN MURDERS
NIGHTSHADE
THE MYSTERIUM
Standalone Titles
THE ROSE DEMON
THE HAUNTING
THE SOUL SLAYER
THE PLAGUE LORD
THE DEATH OF A KING
PRINCE DRAKULYA
THE LORD COUNT DRAKULYA
THE FATE OF PRINCES
DOVE AMONGST THE HAWKS
THE MASKED MAN
As Vanessa Alexander
THE LOVE KNOT
OF LOVE AND WAR
THE LOVING CUP
Kathryn Swinbrooke (as C L Grace)
SHRINE OF MURDERS
EYE OF GOD
MERCHANT OF DEATH
BOOK OF SHADOWS
SAINTLY MURDERS
MAZE OF MURDERS
FEAST OF POISONS
Nicholas Segalla (as Ann Dukthas)
A TIME FOR THE DEATH OF A KING
THE PRINCE LOST TO TIME
THE TIME OF MURDER AT MAYERLING
IN THE TIME OF THE POISONED QUEEN
Mysteries of Alexander the Great (as Anna Apostolou)
A MURDER IN MACEDON
A MURDER IN THEBES
Alexander the Great
THE HOUSE OF DEATH
THE GODLESS MAN
THE GATES OF HELL
Matthew Jankyn (as P C Doherty)
THE WHYTE HARTE
THE SERPENT AMONGST THE LILIES
Non-fiction
THE MYSTERIOUS DEATH OF TUTANKHAMUN
ISABELLA AND THE ST
RANGE DEATH OF EDWARD II
ALEXANDER THE GREAT: THE DEATH OF A GOD
THE GREAT CROWN JEWELS ROBBERY OF 1303
THE SECRET LIFE OF ELIZABETH I
THE DEATH OF THE RED KING
Praise for Paul Doherty
‘Teems with colour, energy and spills’ Time Out
‘Paul Doherty has a lively sense of history . . . evocative and lyrical descriptions’ New Statesman
‘Extensive and penetrating research coupled with a strong plot and bold characterisation. Loads of adventure and a dazzling evocation of the past’ Herald Sun, Melbourne
‘An opulent banquet to satisfy the most murderous appetite’ Northern Echo
‘As well as penning an exciting plot with vivid characters, Doherty excels at bringing the medieval period to life, with his detailed descriptions giving the reader a strong sense of place and time’ South Wales Argus
In fond memory of Angelo Francescotti of Woodford Green, beloved husband of Angela and proud father of Cesare, Daniel and Joseph
PRINCIPAL CHARACTERS
EMPERORS OF ROME
THE IMPERIAL FAMILY
PRINCIPAL EVENTS
Chapter 1
‘I shudder as I tell the tale’
Virgil, Aeneid: II.204
Was I in at the end? Naturally! Did I witness her murder? Of course I did! Did I survive? Well, I am here to tell the tale. Nevertheless, I sense the hidden meaning behind such questions. Yes, something in me died with her. I am only glad that, before we parted, she explained who she really was. I am Parmenon, servant to the Goddess, Domina Agrippina. When a star falls from heaven it never falls alone. I fell with her.
They tried to make it look like an accident, but of course it was murder. The monster Lucius Domitius Ahenobarbus, known as Nero, is a matricide, was a matricide, will be a matricide as long as time runs. Truth will out, be it in a blaze of fire or creeping like water through fissures and cracks. Domina was hardly cold in her grave when leather bags were hung on Nero’s statue. Do you understand the significance of that? It means that Nero should be stitched into such a bag and thrown into the Tiber, the just fate for an assassin! A baby was abandoned in the forum, with a tag on its cradle reading: ‘I WON’T MURDER YOU BUT I LEAVE YOU SO WHEN YOU GROW UP YOU WON’T MURDER ME’.
Domina’s statues were torn down but a wit daubed an inscription on one of the plinths, a quotation from the Classics: ‘I am disgraced, but you are ashamed.’ I especially liked one piece of graffiti for its cleverness: ‘A novel calculation: Nero= slew his own mother.’ A Greek must have written that. (Thank the Gods for the Classics.) Greek numbers are designated by letters of the alphabet, so to put it simply: Neron, in Greek, is equivalent to 1005; the phrase, ‘slew his own mother’ also comes to 1005. Nero would take some time to work that out, if he ever did.
Others were more blatant. Dartius, a performer of farces, at the end of one his shows, shouted: ‘Farewell, Father! Farewell, Mother!’ But, instead of waving goodbye at this point, Dartius imitated the gestures of drunkenness and swimming. It brought the house down though Dartius had to flee Rome by dead of night. The hypocrite Nero staged games to mark the death of his ‘Pia Mater’ – Agrippina had to be mourned. Nero, following the advice of his creature Anicetus, put on a splendid festival, the climax of which was a tightrope-walking elephant. Oh Gods, can you imagine it? An elephant walking a rope? Was that the imperial salute for the daughter of Germanicus, his own mother?
Let me tell my story from the end rather than the beginning. As in all things, it takes a woman to destroy another. In Domina’s case, it was that tasty morsel Poppea, wife of General Otho until she caught Nero’s eye. Poppea was a ripe grape ready for the plucking, with her beautiful face and a body so rich you’d groan at the very sight of it. Poppea the pretty; Poppea the petulant; Poppea with her sun-gold ring of curls; Poppea the spider; Poppea the assassin! Poppea was determined to share Nero’s bed. To achieve that she had to surmount a number of obstacles, which she did with consummate ease. Now, Poppea could easily remove her own husband as well as Nero’s wife; after all, in Rome, divorce was as common as murder. Otho was only too willing to give up his wife, whilst Nero and Octavia couldn’t stand the sight of each other. Both Octavia and Otho were quite prepared to leave the stage to the gorgeous, pouting Poppea, but not Agrippina. A woman who had survived the intrigues of Caligula, the machinations of Claudius, the murderous malice of Messalina? Agrippina was made of sterner stuff. Goddesses do not go into retirement. They either live for ever or die.
So, how do you kill the Queen of Poison? How do you wipe out someone schooled in the harsh atmosphere of the House of Livia, Augustus’s great wife? Agrippina knew every poison available. Her cupboards were full of the antidotes which she regularly took. Poisoning in Nero’s Rome was becoming virtually impossible. There was a legion of tasters, not to mention spies, in the kitchen. The principal rule at an imperial banquet was to eat only from a dish which had been carefully tasted beforehand. I’ve seen many a glorious supper come to an abrupt end at the slightest hint of indigestion amongst its guests. So you can understand Nero and Poppea’s problem. Right from the start they plotted Domina’s murder. However, whilst selling the bearskin is easy, trapping and killing its owner, to misquote the mischievous Petronius, ‘is a different kettle of fish’.
There is always the sword and in the end that’s what it came to, but how do you bribe someone to kill your mother, an Empress of Rome? So round and round and round the plotters went. Nero loved his mother, you’ll say, it must have been difficult for him. Nero loved nobody! His own father once remarked that anyone who inherited his and Agrippina’s blood would turn out to be a bad lot. He didn’t mean it as a prophecy, just a statement of fact. Oh yes, I’ve heard about the allegations of incest: the tumbling in the litter, the stains on Nero’s clothing. Just bear with me and I’ll explain them in due course. It’s the murder we begin with.
Agrippina, may the Gods bless her, suspected it was coming. We were in the gardens at her favourite villa at Antium. We were sitting, as we often did, wetting our feet in a fountain, with a bowl of grapes and a jug of wine between us. Agrippina was tense. She sat, as she always did when spinning her web, with her shoulders slightly hunched. A light sheen of sweat glistened on her full face; her black hair was tied tightly back, except for two corkscrew strands which fell over the ears. She was talking to herself, lips soundlessly moving. Now and again she would pause to chew on a grape and squint up against the sun. It was – is – a beautiful place with raised paths, greenery, flower beds, splashing water, shadowy porticoes and fragrant arbours. Just the spot to contemplate your own end.
‘We are all murderers, Parmenon!’ Agrippina’s tone was meditative, almost as if she was speaking aloud but unaware of anyone listening.
I could have objected, asked her to explain. It wasn’t the time. Agrippina turned and yawned, displaying those double canine teeth. Her lips were purple, grape-stained. I recalled the accusation that she was blood hungry: a killer born and bred, more ferocious than any animal in the amphitheatre. Those double canines only enhanced such a reputation, giving a slight twist to her lips. Yet this was offset by those lovely, well-spaced, dark eyes which could crinkle in amusement, flirt outrageously or glare in murderous passion.
Agrippina was very proud of her eyes. In her youth she used to remark, ‘Let me stare at a man long enough and he’s mine.’ It wasn’t so much a boast as the truth. I mean, listen to dramatists talking about characterisation and developing different personae. It’s nonsense! Most people are simple and boring. Their lives tend to be dominated by a few questions. How they look? Are they healthy? Will they earn a lot of money? Are they in or out of favour? Agrippina was different. You could tell that from her eyes: maternal, soft and tender, cold and dispassionate, amusing, seductive. Her moods could change so quickly. Oh, I concede she was dangerous. Any member of that family was dangerous!
She studied me closely in that lovely villa garden,
a faraway look in her eyes.
‘Do you accept that, Parmenon? That we are all murderers? How long is my list?’
I gestured with my hand. She flicked a grape at me.
‘Come on, Parmenon, tell me. I know you’ve kept count.’
‘Domina, it’s so long, it would be easier to say who wasn’t on it!’
Agrippina laughed. My mind was already going through the table of names. Drusus, starved to death in his prison beneath the Palatine, reduced to eating the stuffing from his mattress. Sejanus, his strangled, cat-scratched body thrust into a sack and thrown down the Stairs of Mourning. Caligula, his plotting senators drawing their swords, abruptly realising that, despite all the fuss, he really wasn’t a god.
‘Come on!’ Agrippina urged.
I started to recite the litany. I had only listed seven names when Agrippina clapped her hands.
‘Enough! Enough!’ She smiled, her eyes all soft and kitten-like. ‘Aren’t you missing some out?’
‘Well, there’s dear Passienus . . .’
‘Oh yes, my second husband.’
‘And, of course, there’s . . .’
‘I know.’ She made a moue with her mouth. ‘Dear Clau . . . Clau . . . dear Claudius,’ she scoffed. ‘He did like mushrooms.’
Agrippina sat, swinging her feet, letting the water ripple through her toes, humming a song a gladiator had once taught her. Oh, she looked so beautiful with the sun shining, the air perfumed with roses and the scent of crushed grapes.
‘Why?’ she asked.
‘Why what, Domina?’
‘Why did I murder? Why did I kill?’ She smiled at me with those butterfly eyes like a young girl teasing a teacher. ‘Shall I tell you why?’
I glanced away. Her words are the cause of this story. Shall I tell you why? That’s where my story begins and ends. For the first and last time, Agrippina, Domina Mea, was going to confess. She looked at me directly, no longer the coquette, the flirt, the imperial wife or mother. This was a soul-wrenching, haunted glance. Never once had Domina ever discussed this. Oh, she’d removed enemies. She’d plotted carefully but . . .
Domina (Paul Doherty Historical Mysteries) Page 1
