I confess I was alarmed myself, though logic, rarely any help when the apprehensive emotions are awakened, told me I had nothing to fear. Yet panic is infectious, and I do not know what I would have done if my attention had not been caught, and held fast, by the spectacle of the Emperor himself.
Otho was hurrying about the room, seizing remaining guests by the sleeve, and talking urgently to them. A few minutes earlier he had been rosy and convivial, though not without dignity, happy in his role of host. Now he was white as a virgin's sheets, and sweat stood out on his forehead. His eyes darted round and I read in them a fearful perplexity. Or so I think now; so I remember.
Then an aide approached him, conferred with him, and they withdrew from the banqueting chamber to an inner room, Otho glancing two or three times over his shoulder as he left us.
There came a crash, loud yells, screams of renewed and more urgent terror, and the chamber was full, as it seemed, of soldiers, brandishing swords, some of which dripped with blood. The tribune, Junius Martialis, boldly demanded what they wanted, and was thrust aside, but not before he had been slashed in the groin, so that he fell, moaning and bleeding on the marble, and was trampled under advancing feet.
Those of the guests who remained huddled in corners, each man and each woman trying to find another to use as a shield. Nobody knew the purpose of the incursion, and everybody feared it. The soldiers cried for Otho to present himself to them and, again, we could not tell whether they were about to kill him or merely sought reassurance as to his safety. What discussions went on in the little room where he had taken refuge, I have never learned. But I believe that it was Otho himself who determined that he must show himself to the soldiers, and accept whatever fate had in store for him.
So he emerged stiff-legged, and pale of face, yet with an odd boyish resolution. I felt a surge of admiration; I remembered poor Sporus' account of Nero's abject terror. I have seen the look on Otho's face on the countenance of defeated gladiators stretched out on the sand consenting to death.
No one moved. Otho looked on
the spectacle, looked on Junius
Martialis, the wounded tribune crawling towards him, bent down and put his arm round him, with pain and labour eased him on to a couch, and then, mounting the same couch beside him, let his eyes walk with unconscionable slowness round the chamber where candles still burned on those tables that had not been overturned, and where wines and plates of delicacies were still displayed . . .
'Comrades,' he said, very gently, 'what is this? What is this you have done? What strange ideas have enflamed you? If you have come to kill me, here I am. No other blood need be shed. If you are labouring under the delusion that my life is in danger, and have nobly come to protect me, I respect and cherish your devotion - even while I deplore your eagerness to act without true knowledge, and your insubordination . . .'
Then the soldiers threw down their swords, or lowered them, or returned them to their scabbards, and crowded round their Emperor, kissing his hands, pressing against him (so that the poor wounded tribune was now in danger of being smothered) and protesting their devotion.
The next day the city was quiet as a house in mourning. Shutters remained up, shops were closed, few moved in the streets; you might have thought plague had struck or that Rome - even Rome - was an occupied city in the hands of a terrible enemy.
XVIII
The next evening, when I had returned from news-gathering at the baths to my mother's house, to see that all was well with her, and to reassure her as to my own safety, we were disturbed by one of her slaves who came running to warn us that a detachment of soldiers had entered the courtyard and were demanding where my lodging might be found. Had I been alone, I believe I would have attempted flight. But it was inconceivable either that I should leave my mother to answer for me, or show myself afraid in her presence. So, speaking as calmly as I could, I commanded the slave to go fetch the soldiers, and thus ensure that none of our neighbours was exposed to any danger that might threaten me; for my mother was so respected, even in her poverty and distressed condition, that it was probable that some at least of the people
in
the building might think to deceive the soldiers, in the hope that they would spare her their attentions. They would be the more likely to do this, since I had entered the house cautiously, and few could have known that I was there.
The look of pride that shone from my mothers's eyes was reward for the danger I supposed I had invited.
But the centurion who entered our apartment, at the head of a detachment of only four of the Guard, was immediately civil. He apologised to my mother for this incursion on her privacy, remarking that, in less evil times, he would not have contemplated breaking in on so great a lady. My mother received this as her due and gently enquired what they sought of me.
'Orders from the Emperor himself, ma'am,' the centurion said. 'He commands the presence of this young gentleman, and desires it so urgently that he sent me with these men to ensure that he arrives unmolested at the palace, for the streets are unruly and those who guard the palace are so on edge, if I may put it this way, you might say they are having kittens, that we are thought necessary to act as the young man's safe-conduct. And the Emperor bade me - expressly bade me -to assure you that he means the young man no harm, but rather the contrary. And he also required me to convey to you - these are his own words, precisely - his most profound respects, and - I forget exactly -hopes you are well, anyway.'
Then he wiped his brow with a red bandana, as if he had rehearsed this speech and was glad to have got it out.
My mother insisted only that I must first wash, shave (though my beard was still light and I scarce needed to do so more than twice a week), and put on a clean toga before she could think me fit to enter the presence of the Emperor. In her mind, despite all she knew to Otho's discredit, the office demanded respect, and respect required clean garments. The centurion assented and, while I retired to obey her instructions, she served them with wine, not apologising for its quality being inferior to that which she would have been accustomed to provide before misfortune laid its icy hand on her; for to do so would, in her view, have been to demean herself.
Then we embraced, she bestowed a blessing on me, and reminded me to acquit myself in a manner worthy of my ancestors (by whom she meant her noble family, and not my real father Narcissus). And so we set off for the palace.
I thought it beneath me to enquire of the centurion whether he had any idea why I was sent for; but, as we moved through the snarling streets, I felt my blood run with excitement, as if I had at last fully entered on adult life.
Nevertheless, despite the honour apparently paid me, I was thoroughly searched at the palace door, for fear I was carrying a weapon which I might employ against the Emperor.
'Sorry about that, sir,' the centurion said, when I was passed clean. 'It's the way as is now, even Senators get frisked.'
I was led through a labyrinth of passages and an armed sentry stood at each corner-turning. I remember thinking that, lacking Ariadne's ball of wool, I would be unable to find my way out of this maze, should things go against me and I sought escape.
At last I was shown into a small chamber beyond the third court of the palace, as I judged. The light was dim. There was indeed only one lamp, and at first it seemed the room was empty. Is this to be my prison? I thought. Then there was movement from a couch beyond the lamp, and therefore in more obscure darkness, and a voice which I recognised as Otho's thanked the centurion for his services, told him to wait outside, and greeted me by name.
The Emperor did not rise. Nor did he speak again till the centurion had given a smart salute with a great stamping of feet, and retired. As my eyes grew accustomed to the dim light, I saw that the Emperor was lying on a couch, soft with many cushions and that his body was covered by a richly-embroidered blanket.
There should,' he said, 'be wine on that little table. Give yourself a cup, and fetch me one.'
His voice was weary, and a little thick, as if he had already drunk.
'You will be wondering why I have sent for you.'
'Since I could not guess, I thought it vain to speculate, my lord.'
'Spoken like a true Claudian - save that "my lord". I had a great respect for your mother when she lived at court. She was kind to me as a boy. I observed you last night. You behaved well in that - what shall I say? - ridiculous and frightening business. In a manner, again, worthy of a Claudian. Are you a good Claudian or a bad Claudian?'
Of course I understood the question, as you will, Tacitus, but you may have to remind your readers (if you make use of this dialogue), that there were reputedly two sorts of Claudians: those who served the Republic dutifully, and did the State great service, and those who . . . well, didn't; but were self-willed, domineering, reckless, dangerous to others and to themselves.
'I am not yet nineteen,' I said. 'It is too early to know.'
He laughed.
'I think,' he said, 'that is the most honest thing said to me since I began to play this part; and the wittiest. Usually it is only licensed fools who jest with Emperors. That at least is a tradition not yet abandoned. So your answer pleases me. You're a handsome fellow, too. Come, sit beside me.'
I obeyed, with misgivings. Not this, I thought. He laughed again, reading my mind.
You've nothing to fear,' he said. 'I have no intention of practising a perverted species of the
lex primae noctis,
a custom which, even in its normal form, disgusts me. Women should be won, not taken; that is my opinion as an ageing debauchee, now satiated in the lists of Venus. But I think we could do business.' I remained silent. He questioned this.
'My mother taught me,' I said, 'that if you have nothing to say, then say nothing.'
'Good advice. Follow it and you will be a politician. Or a general. Silence is a good weapon. There is nothing so disconcerting as silence. Unfortunately, I have always been talkative. It's done me harm . . .'
Candour is charming, and to be distrusted.
'I never had any great taste for boys anyway,' he said. 'When you have learned to enjoy a woman, no boy can ever fully satisfy. Have you discovered that yet? Come, don't blush. The light is dim but I can still feel your blush, there's a glow in your face. You were, I'm told, the lover of Titus, son of Vespasian. Are you that still?'
I hesitated, like a man on the threshold of a dark house, through which the wind is blowing. Danger can have no smell, not being corporeal; yet often I have scented it. Fear, of course, has a smell -the smell of cold sweat; and danger and fear are close blood-brothers.
"We were boys,' I said, 'now we are men.'
'And Titus fucks an Eastern Queen, Berenice, they say. Are you jealous?'
Titus is my friend. What makes him happy pleases me.'
You choose your words with care. I like that. My life would have been more fortunate had I possessed that ability.'
You are Emperor, sir. What more can fortune grant you?'
'It could start with sleep. Yes, I am Emperor. But for how long? Galba was Emperor. So was Nero, once my friend. So was Claudius, murdered by his wife. At least I have no wife now. I had one once, you know, and loved her, though she was a whore, dissolute as myself in those days. Nero killed her, as an angry child might kill a puppy. Now, I have no wife, nor son either.'
Jupiter, I thought - this is genuine, Tacitus, I swear it - he's not about to adopt me, is he, make me his Piso. No thanks. But how could I evade him if he made the offer?
'But your friend Titus still keeps a troupe of dancing-boys, Syrians, they say, and what he does with them requires no guessing. You're not jealous of that either?'
'If you were not Emperor, sir,' - I couldn't bring myself to say 'my emperor' - and left the answer hanging
in
the incense-scented air of the little room which now seemed to enfold the pair of us with a nauseating closeness.
'If I was not Emperor, you would tell me to go hang myself - eh? Is that it? Good. I like your spirit and your unspoken response.'
He lifted his cup, emptied it in one gulp, as drunkards drink, or men
in
the grip of sorrow or despair, and passed it to me to fill again.
'It's a lonely business being Emperor. I've discovered that already,
in
a matter of weeks. Nero enjoyed it, of course. But then Nero was a fool, a clever and often amusing fool, but still a fool. Tiberius, who was a wise man, loathed it. So my father used to say, and he knew the old man well, and revered him. He used to hint that he might be the Emperor's bastard. I don't know. His father, my grandfather, was a client of the great Livia Augusta. He owed his place
in
the Senate to her. There are not many men left in Rome who know more about emperors than I do, or what it means to wear the purple.' He paused and drank again. 'I know what you're thinking: that I sought the crown. So I did. Who wouldn't when the chance presents itself? Even that dull fellow Piso yielded to the temptation. Even Vitellius, and of all those I have known, none has been less fitted. But that does not restrain him, and now, thanks to the energy of his legates, Valens and Caecina, he is a danger to me. What do you say?'