He laughed. 'Oh, come on, don't be modest! What do you think? I can't divorce Octavia. Mother would be furious, she's always saying how much she likes the little wimp.'
I put the salver down – it would never have done, the decoration was repetitive and hopelessly old-fashioned – and tried to keep my voice light.
'You see the empress often these days?'
'Oh, no! Just now and again. She's a lot less frosty than she was, but Poppy can't stand her any more than Acte can.' He frowned, presumably at the juxtaposition of the two names: Acte still lived at the palace, but he hardly ever visited her now and never mentioned her. 'Titus, I really can't divorce Octavia, can I? I mean, we don't live together and so on, and I've never liked the woman. But she is old Claudius's daughter, and she hasn't actually done anything, has she?'
'No,' I said. 'She hasn't. And,' I added carefully, 'I doubt if she would, either. Forget about her. Octavia's quite content as she is.'
He nodded. 'That's right! That's just what I'm always telling Poppy!' He picked up a delicately-fluted spoon. 'How about these? They'd go very nicely with the soup bowls, wouldn't they?'
'Yes, very nicely.' I moved on to more sensitive ground. 'You say your mother's becoming "less frosty"'.
'Mmm.' He laid the spoon to one side and reached for a fruit dish with a raised boss in the shape of a satyr's head. 'She can be terriblyc ritical, you know, and she's no time for art. But we had quite a cosy little chat the other day about modern painting. She's obviously taking an interest at long last.' He held up the fruit dish. 'He's an ugly-looking devil, isn't he?'
'What?' I was momentarily distracted. 'Oh, the satyr. Yes, he is.'
Lucius giggled. 'He looks a bit like Seneca. Don't tell the old bore I said so.'
'Oh, my dear!' I examined the dish more closely. The satyr glared at me with blank, toad-like eyes. He looked constipated. 'Oh, you're quite right! Especially the expression.'
'Shall we take it? Just for fun. I'll present it to him at the next dinner party as a going-home gift.'
'Good idea.' I took the dish from him and put it by the spoons. 'But to get back to Agrippina –'
He laid his hand on my arm. 'Now, Titus, darling, don't you be silly! I know perfectly well what Mother's trying to do, and it won't work. The poor thing hasn't an artistic bone in her body, however much she pretends otherwise. But it is rather flattering. To think she's taken the trouble.'
'Yes, I suppose it is. The empress' – I was dry – 'is most condescending.'
He giggled again. 'As well as having the finest pair of breasts inRome. Excepting Poppaea's, of course. And your Silia's.'
'But naturally they are the finest! They have suckled an emperor!' I spoke in my pompous Seneca voice; and then I could have bitten my tongue off, because he paled.
'That's right, darling,' he said softly. 'So they have.'
Fortunately at that precise moment Seneca himself arrived. I doubt if I've ever been more relieved.
'Ah, my dear Nero!' The old man was affable and smiling, but I could detect signs of agitation. There was a trace of sweat on his forehead, and the drape of his mantle wasn't quite as impeccable as usual. One was never totally sure of one's welcome when visiting Lucius. 'You sent for me?'
Lucius's face clouded.
'Did I?'
'You did. Less than an hour ago. I came as quickly as I could.' He nodded to me. 'Good morning, Petronius. Choosing silverware?'
'Yes.' Lucius was smiling again. 'Isn't it lovely? Especially this fruit dish with the head.'
Seneca picked it up and examined it carefully. I could see he hadn't noticed any resemblance. 'Oh, yes,’ he said. ‘Very nice. Most unusual.'
'Oh, I remember!' Lucius snapped his fingers. 'It was about my tax idea!'
Seneca stiffened. I could understand why: hitherto Lucius had taken very little interest in the minutiae of government, and fiscal matters especially bored him solid. Our whole plan of campaign was directed to keep him out of public affairs.
'Your "tax idea",' he said. His voice was expressionless.
'Yes. It's simply marvellous.' Lucius waved us both on to couches. 'Sit down, please. Both of you. I can't possibly explain this to you standing up.'
I sat. Seneca lowered himself gingerly, as if he were afraid his couch would bite him. Lucius remained on his feet.
'Comfy?' he asked.
'Perfectly.' Seneca's face was a study. 'Now. What tax idea is this?'
'You know the problem we have with tax farming?'
'Yes.' Tax farming was the bane of the Treasury officer's existence. In the interests of economy, the collection of taxes was farmed out to private concerns. The result was a system administratively cumbrous, riddled with corruption, totally arbitrary and the cause of constant complaints from provincials.
'Well, I just thought, why not scrap the whole thing?'
I was watching Seneca carefully. The poor darling went three distinct shades of green. There was a terrible silence.
'I beg your pardon?' he said at last.
Lucius was pacing the floor. 'It's simple. Ditch the lot. The indirect ones, I mean. Import-export duties, port dues, everything. We don't need them, silly fiddling things.'
'But where,' Seneca said carefully, 'is the money going to come from? The shortfall to the Treasury would be crippling.'
'But don't you see, there wouldn't be a problem!' Lucius beamed. 'Make trade free and you'll double the market overnight. Not to mention the administrative savings. It's brilliant!' He turned to me. 'What do you think, Titus?'
'Alas, I'm no economist, my dear. Not in your exalted class.'
'Don't smarm, you pig. Seneca?'
'It's...an interesting idea.' The old fraud looked glazed, and I didn't blame him. 'Certainly...radical. Whether it would work in practice is another matter.'
'But you'll put it to the Senate?'
'I will' – Seneca swallowed painfully – 'put it to the Senate. If you insist. All the same, my dear fellow...'
'Oh, I do insist!' Lucius was still beaming. 'And it is brilliant, whatever you think. Scrap indirect taxes and everybody wins, everybody's happy, except the tax monopolies, and these crooks can take a running jump to themselves.'
'I hope you don't mind me asking, dear boy, but did you...' Seneca shifted uncomfortably on the edge his couch. 'Was this your own idea, or was it...ah...suggested to you?'
'Oh, it's all mine.'
'The Lady Poppaea didn't...I mean no disrespect, you understand, but I was just wondering whether she or someone else might just have...'
Lucius was watching him squirm with a most intelligent smile on his lips.
'No, she didn't,' he said abruptly. 'Although she did remind me that I'm the emperor, and that perhaps I should be doing a little more...emperoring.' He turned away. 'Now I'm not pushing, Seneca, but I really do think it's a splendid idea, and I'd be very grateful if you'd pass it on to the Senate.' He paused: another dazzling smile. 'Tell them it's your own suggestion, if you like.'
I thought Seneca's sudden fit of coughing would finish the old devil.
He cornered me later outside, as we were waiting for the litters.
'I don't like it, Petronius,’ he said. ‘I don't like it one bit.’
'The emperor's tax plan?'
'Oh, no. I thought he was quite good over that. It's totally unworkable, of course, but you have to give the lad credit for good intentions. And the present system does need drastic revision. No. I meant this new...independence of mind.' His litter arrived and he climbed in with difficulty. 'That worries me. Oh, and you may have been right about Poppaea. I suspect I've rather misjudged her.'
I was so surprised that I almost forgot to hand him the fruit dish I was carrying for him. Seneca never admitted he was wrong. Never. I also forgot to mention the bit about Agrippina's breasts. They, to my mind, were even more significant. But by the time I remembered Seneca had gone.
20.
A month or so later I happened to be in Na
ples when Terpnus gave a performance at the concert hall, and Lucius (who'd travelled down specially) invited me to join him in the imperial box. Not alone, naturally: he never went anywhere these days without a following of elegant young men, artists and musicians. There would be a good dozen of us squeezed cheek by jowl into a space meant for half as many. I was late, unavoidably so. Terpnus was tuning up when I arrived, and Lucius was already seated.
'Titus!’ he said. ‘At long last! What kept you?'
'I'm sorry. Domestic crisis.'
'Never mind, we saved you a place.' He grinned. 'Come and sit beside Poppy.'
I hadn't noticed Poppaea on his other side, possibly because I hadn't expected her to be there. And Poppaea Sabina was not the sort of woman one failed to notice.
Seated, she was taller than Lucius, with the perfect regularity of features which ought to have produced an ordinary prettiness but went beyond it into beauty. At the same time she radiated a coldness which was unique in my experience; as if her beauty and softness were overlaid with a thin coating of ice. As I climbed over protesting bodies towards her she turned and looked at me. It was like being run through with an icicle.
'I'm sorry,' I said again, to Lucius. 'The friend I'm staying with tripped over his mistress's cat and broke a leg.'
Lucius laughed.
'His own leg or the cat's?' he said. 'Or was it his mistress's?'
'Don't be a fool, dear.' Poppaea frowned. 'Petronius is making it up.'
'It's the truth! I swear!' It was; by the time I'd finished laughing and got the poor man's slaves to summon a doctor I had been abominably delayed.
'Oh, never mind, darling, you're here anyway.' Lucius waved a hand to Terpnus who along with the rest of the audience had been waiting for the disturbance caused by my arrival to subside. 'Now do sit down and shut up, there's a good fellow.'
I squeezed past Poppaea, incidentally (and accidentally) confirming what Lucius had said about her breasts. From what I could see of them from above – which was quite a lot – they were flawless, white as Parian marble. She caught my eye and glared at me. We were not, obviously, destined to be friends.
The whole auditorium fell silent as, with another glance towards Lucius, Terpnus began to play. Naples is a Greek city, and so civilised. In Rome we'd have been lucky to hear anything above the cracking of nuts and roasted melon seeds. Here the audience treated the performing artist with the courtesy he deserved. Terpnus sang, of course, in Greek – mostly his own compositions, with some older works. Both the singing and the lyre-playing were excellent, but one song I completely failed to place. When it was over, and while Terpnus was refreshing his throat with a cup of water, I leaned towards Poppaea (there was no point in antagonising the lady by ignoring her) and whispered: 'Whose was that last one? It was very good, wasn't it?'
Poppaea's lips set firmly into a line. Lucius, who must have heard, grinned at me and looked smug.
'There you are, Poppy!' he said. 'Didn't I tell you Titus had a good ear?'
The pressed lips were exchanged for a definite scowl. I didn't attempt further conversation with her until the concert was over.
We went backstage, of course, after the performance. Terpnus was in the star's dressing-room, changed out of his finery and sipping from a cup of Numentian wine mixed with barley water. Lucius embraced him.
'Splendid, my dear!' he said in Greek. 'Simply splendid!'
'It was your own composition that was splendid, sir.' Offstage Terpnus was a little puffed-up pigeon of a man with a few grey hairs plastered over his bald pate. 'I only hope I didn't spoil it too badly.'
'It was rather good, wasn't it?' Lucius turned towards me, beaming, his arm still round the little man's shoulders. 'Titus spotted it right away.'
Poppaea was still scowling. 'Petronius knew all the time,’ she said. ‘He only asked about it to please you.'
'Oh, nonsense! Nonsense!' Lucius pulled her towards him with his free arm and hugged her. 'What a horribly devious mind you have, darling! Titus didn't know it was mine. No one did except you and Terpnus. Isn't that right, Titus?'
'Of course it is.'
'Genius,' Terpnus murmured sententiously, 'cannot be hidden. The rest of my performance was a mere shadow.'
'Tosh!' Lucius coloured up with pleasure and gave him another squeeze. Terpnus winced. 'Mind you, I am coming along nicely. In a year or so I'll give you a proper run for your money. Eh, Poppy?'
He smiled at her. Standing, their eyes were on a level.
'I think Terpnus is quite right, darling,' she said. 'You're much the better already.'
'There's my lovely girl!' Lucius kissed her. 'Well, maybe I am. We'll see.'
'The Lord Nero's musical genius is surpassed only by his skill on the tragic stage,' someone behind me said in a slow, bored voice. I turned. Lounging against the doorpost was a tall dark-haired man with heavy Semitic features.
'Alityrus!' Lucius cried, and let go of both Poppaea and Terpnus. 'Oh, how marvellous! Where did you spring from, darling?'
I'd never met the man properly, but I knew who he was: a Jewish comic actor and a friend of both Poppaea's and Lucius's. Whether the word was a euphemism or not I didn't know. Nor did I particularly want to.
'I'm on at the local theatre.' Whatever the man's relationship with Lucius, he was undressing Poppaea with his eyes. She stared back at him without expression. 'Or will be from tomorrow.'
'Really? What play?'
'Cratinos's Flood.'
'Oh, my dear!' Lucius grinned. 'Not Cratinos! Oh, you poor thing!'
Alityrus shrugged and took his shoulder from the wood. He hadn't, I think, moved his gaze once from Poppaea even while he was talking to Lucius; and he certainly hadn't acknowledged Terpnus's presence, let alone my own. I doubt if I'd ever encountered anyone quite so self-centred.
'It's a play,' he said. 'And the gent who's paying likes them old and wrinkled. Me, I'm different.' He half-winked at Poppaea; her breasts rose and fell. 'But then I've got to eat, haven't I?'
'Alityrus, you haven't congratulated our host yet,' Poppaea said quickly. 'That is not polite, dear.'
The heavy-lidded eyes swung towards Terpnus. The puffy little Greek was scowling, and clearly resented no longer being the centre of attention. 'Congratulations,' he said.
That was all. Terpnus merely nodded – neither the single word nor the tone called for anything more –, excused himself and stormed out as noisily as he dared.
I wondered what the man thought he was doing, and how he could be so stupid as to insult the emperor's favourite so blatantly; and then I looked at Lucius and understood. Alityrus was perfectly safe, from Terpnus at least. The emperor was fussing like an ugly spinster in the presence of a suitor half her age, biting his lips to redden them and touching the tightly curled fringes of his hair. Older men have never interested me. I was faintly amused and, I confess to my shame, faintly repelled.
'I don't think I know the Flood,' I said.
Alityrus favoured me with a slow stare. Having got rid of one irrelevancy to the company he was obviously preparing to remove the second.
'There's no reason why you should,' he said. 'It hasn't been performed in years and the jokes have beards longer than a rabbi's.'
'This is Titus Petronius, dear.' Lucius's arm was over Poppaea's shoulders again. His fingertips brushed the top of her left breast, but his eyes never left the other man's face. I was treated to the barest of nods before the lazy eyes swung away from me. 'Of course we've got Helorus for set design,' he said, addressing Lucius, 'so the effects are good. That always pulls the crowd.'
'Do tell!' I could almost see Lucius's ears prick up. He had a child's love of gadgetry, and the palace was full of the odd, clever machines which the Greeks delight in.
'Oh, they're brilliant. The boat stops the show.'
'Boat?'
'For the flood scene. It's the length of the stage, with hinges all along the deck. Lovely work. You'd think it was real.' For the first time Alityrus's
voice held a trace of colour. 'When it opens up the punters go wild.'
'A hinged boat! Oh, how very clever!' Lucius nodded, his eyes still fixed on Alityrus while the fingers of his left hand stroked Poppaea's breast. I suddenly had the most curious sensation of being invisible. 'You're quite right, my dear, we must see this boat of yours. Tomorrow, you say? The first night's tomorrow?'
'As ever is.' Alityrus was staring at Poppaea, who stared coolly back.
All at once Lucius shivered, like a dog shaking water from its coat.
'Then we'll go,' he said. 'We'll all go just to see the marvellous hinged boat. A little theatrical outing. But tonight' – he gave a suddenbrilliant smile that embraced them both and excluded me – 'tonight, my darlings, we'll have some supper together, to whet our appetites. After that...well, after that we'll see, shall we?'
I made my excuses, and left quickly.
21.
If we'd thought Poppaea was the only cloud on the horizon, however, we were wrong. At the end of February Seneca suddenly called Silia and myself to what proved to be an emergency council of war in his house on the Caelian. Burrus and Acte had already arrived. They were seated in the study when the slave led us through.
I hadn't seen Burrus for months. He looked old and tired and ill.
'Ah, Petronius!' He smiled thinly. 'I hope the emperor's Arbiter of Elegance has brought a miracle along with him. Jupiter knows we need one.'
I glanced enquiringly at Seneca. His pudgy face was lined and grey.
'I'm terribly afraid, my dear fellow,' he said, 'that we're losing him. We may indeed have lost him already. It's just a matter of who to.'
'"Who to"?' I pulled up a chair for Silia and sat next to her. 'What do you mean, who to?'
Seneca looked at Acte.
'Poppaea or the empress, Titus,' she said dully. 'One or the other. Me, I can't see that it matters.'
'Agrippina?' A cold finger touched my spine.
'They're sleeping together. They have been for days.'
'You're sure?' Silia frowned.
'Oh, yes. I'm sure. Chryse told me. It's common knowledge at the palace, among the slaves, anyway, and they always know what's going on.'
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