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NERO
By Pueros Chapter XXI – Dawns (Villa of Caius Silius, Rome, Dies Solis A.D. III Id. Oct. DCCCI A.V.C., in the 7th year of the reign of the Emperor Claudius [or Sunday, 13th October AD 48]) ‘The morn, look you, furthers a man on his road, and furthers him too in his work.’ - Hesiod The cool autumn dawn was just breaking, as I was dragged outside of my master’s villa into that part of the garden where the dreaded punishment posts were situated. I had already been stripped naked but shame at my nudity was not the reason why tears streamed down my face. Instead, the major domo’s declaration of my impending awful fate, along now with the visible evidence of the tools and equipment that would slowly bring my young life to a premature and terrible end, had induced the lachrymose display. All of the household had been assembled to watch, with the noticeable exceptions of Sribonia, Tullia and Apollinus. Despite my terror, I perceived their non-appearance and correctly guessed the reasons. The scene that would now unfold in Caius Silius’ garden would be considered too dreadful for my young mistresses’ sensibilities to endure, and so they would have been kept undisturbed and asleep in their beds. Later, another eunuch would be assigned to serve their breakfast in my enforced absence. Meanwhile, my very handsome 16 year-old Greek friend had been locked away, as his closeness to me was now well recognised and the major domo wanted no trouble from him whilst the freeman went about his horrible work. As I was dragged towards the punishment posts, I noticed the variety of whips and knives already laid out on a nearby trellis table, ready to use on my tremulous slim form. I also saw the braziers in which the promised red-hot irons were presently acquiring the necessary high temperature. However, for me, the worst vision was the sight of the large sturdy wooden cross lying on the grass, with an appropriately sized narrow trench at its foot, ready to hold the structure in place after elevation. Adjacent were three long, strong, sharp iron spikes and a redoubtable hammer. It was obvious that no rope was to be used to attach me to the cross, which was noticeably sanguinely stained, from previous use, towards the bottom of the flat vertical post and the edges of the crossbeam. The sight caused me to empty my bladder but I had little time to experience embarrassment. Immense trepidation instead assailed my mind and body as I was once more tightly fastened spreadeagled between the punishment posts, which would be the scene of my initial torment before being transferred to the other wooden structure for my crucifixion. My flaccid cock was expelling the last of my bladder’s urine when the major domo picked up the first of his whips. “I can assure you, Bicilus,” the sneering freeman then advised, “that there’ll be no Gaius Musonius Rufus or Quintus Remmius Palaemon to come to your rescue this time, as by now they’ve been arrested and are enjoying similar entertainment elsewhere in Rome!” My lachrymose flow now intensified, but not because my bare back had endured the first agonising blow from the major domo’s whip. My increased tears had instead been induced by the news that my dear lover and his famed tutor were similarly suffering elsewhere. (Main Rome-Ostia road, a few hours earlier) Flamma fumo est proxima.’ (‘Flame follows smoke.’) - Plautus (‘Curculio’) “Am I still Emperor?” Claudius repeated over and over until his freedmen and Procurator, acting on an initiative that the Emperor was clearly currently incapable of providing, saw to it that their Imperial master did indeed retain his position. As dawn approached, the very capable officials immediately embarked on crushing the coup with ruthless expediency. (Villa of Caius Silius, Rome, a few hours later) ‘Aurora Musis amica.’ (‘Dawn is friend of the Muses’ [i.e. the early bird catches the worm].) - Ancient Roman maxim “You’re quite correct, there’ll be no Gaius Musonius Rufus or Quintus Remmius Palaemon, whoever they may be, to come to the boy’s rescue this time,” announced the Praetorian captain, “as, instead, it’ll be me!” The officer, surrounded by a number of other soldiers, then ordered his men to “Arrest everyone, including the young brat being punished for some reason, and take them all to the palace for questioning!” This command was not good news for those being arrested, even myself, because we all appreciated how the dreaded Praetorians went about questioning people, especially slaves. Their customary use of torture to extract the truth, or rather their preferred version of veracity, was renowned. The major domo had just landed his second excruciating strike on my vulnerable naked form, creating a bloody stripe across the smooth curvature of my buttocks and causing my body to reverberate in acute anguish despite my confining bondage. The freeman had therefore been too busy to observe the dreaded Praetorians emerge from Caius Silius’ urban villa, having forced entry into the empty palatial domus through the front door. “You can’t do this,” the major domo shrieked, as his arms were grabbed by a pair of fierce-looking Praetorians, “because Caius Silius will see to it that you’re all severely punished for such impertinence!” However, it now dawned on the freeman that he was truly in serious trouble when he was quickly disabused of his employer’s ability to secure just retribution on the soldiers after their officer informed “I don’t think so. The head of the owner of this domus was detached from his body by my sword an hour ago!” (Imperial palace, Rome, same time) ‘Cuiusvis hominis est errare, nullius nisi insipientis in errore perseverare.’ (‘It is the nature of man to err, but it is the nature of only the foolish to persist in error.’) - Cicero The arrival at the Imperial palace of a host of troops, woken and garnered from the barracks of the Praetorians and garrison of Rome, located outside the city walls, had signaled, to most of those gathered for the wedding feast of Messalina and Caius Silius, that the coup had somehow gone awry. Some present had managed to flee, whilst others denied all knowledge of any conspiracy to their military captors, who were obviously loyal to the still-breathing Claudius. However, such verbal defence was somewhat lacking in ingenuity, given that those pleading innocence had attended a banquet celebrating a bigamous and, more importantly, treacherous marriage. The Praetorians already located in the palace had been primed by their superiors, all allied place-men of the Empress, to take control of Rome and secure, on behalf of the conspirators, terrible retributions against perceived enemies, as soon as Claudius’ sad demise had been confirmed. However, the rank and file, who had been kept ignorant of the true background to events, rapidly changed sides to join their comrades in attempting to arrest the coup leaders. These soldiers did so after becoming aware that they had been unknowing pawns in a plot against the Emperor, as well as astutely judging which way the wind was now blowing. Narcissus, capably aided by Burrus, had proficiently coordinated activities. The persons of some of the chief plotters, primarily Caius Silius and the disloyal Praetorian captains, had speedily been secured. Imperial retribution was then swift, swords quickly and ruthlessly bringing the traitors’ lives to an end. Narcissus and Burrus felt that they could not afford the luxury of simply initially arresting the main conspirators, for subsequent questioning before execution. The men’s attitude arose through fear that not only might supporters re-group and rescue the traitors but also the Empress, who had disappeared, might somehow meet Claudius. Narcissus and Burrus knew how easily Messalina could influence her husband, even in these circumstances, and they therefore worried that she might somehow convince him that there had been no plot or that she was not involved. Worse still, the Empress might be able to persuade Claudius that it was actually his freedmen who had instigated a convoluted conspiracy. Accordingly, Narcissus and Burrus appreciated that they had to act decisively and ruthlessly against the plotters. In particular, they had to prevent a meeting between Messalina and Claudius. However, their intent was currently confounded because the Empress had somehow slipped away during the tumult caused by the arrival of the loyal troops, and no-one knew where the young woman had gone, although Praetorians had been despatched to seek her out and kill her. Meanwhile, as dawn arrived, Claudius, now safely returned to his palace and carefully guarded by a large group of loyal Praetorians, had resumed his drinking to calm his nerves. The Emperor was using another slave as his taster because the previous eunuch incumbent of the post had sadly died in Ostia, shortly before all the local kitchen staff had perished at the hands of the Imperial guards at the behest of Burrus. The poison in the mushrooms served to Claudius had not been so slow acting that they did not create worrying symptoms within a few minutes of consumption. The face of the poor eunuch had first turned a deathly white whilst he simultaneously began to feel queasy. However, when this nausea was soon followed by foaming of the mouth and bodily collapse in acute agony to the floor, it was finally appreciated that eating fungi fare that night was not to be recommended. Claudius still held in his hand the scroll that Narcissus had sent to him, advising him of the wedding of his beloved Messalina to Caius Silius and the perceived treachery behind the event. Despite feeling more secure than he did a few hours earlier, the deeply shocked Princeps nevertheless still occasionally mumbled, between sips of strong undiluted wine, “Am I still Emperor?” Shortly afterwards, the whole of Caius Silius’ household, including Sribonia and Tullia, arrived at the palace on the Palatine. However, we were all petrified because we knew that we were not honoured guests of the Emperor, destined for the resplendent quarters occupied by the Imperial family. Instead, as we were led under armed guard to the vast basement, which housed the notorious dungeons, we fully appreciated that the state hospitality we were about to receive was likely to be most unpleasant. (Former domus of Valerius Asiaticus, Rome, same time) ‘It is vain to look for a defence against lightning.’ -Publius Syrus Messalina’s plotting had seen to the demise, over 18 months previously, of Valerius Asiaticus, at his own hands in his own wonderful gardens, located on the southern spur of Rome’s ‘Collis Hortulorum’, or ‘Garden Hill’, overlooking the Campus Martius. The domus of the deceased Senator from Narbonnais Gaul, since appropriated by the covetous Empress, was therefore perhaps an ironic place for the terrified young woman to seek refuge. The irony could only be increased by the fact that the only transport she had been able to obtain, during her desperate flight from the Imperial palace with a few loyal slaves, had been a dung cart. Messalina currently gave scant consideration to the residence’s resplendent terraced gardens, created over 100 years earlier by Lucullus, the general who had eventually defeated the very dangerous threat to Roman ambitions in Asia, Mithridates, King of Pontus. The young Empress instead assigned all her thoughts to securing an audience with Claudius, knowing that she should be safe once she had done so, fully, and probably correctly, believing in the efficacy of her persuasive charms on the now 58 year-old man. Messalina needed a loyal reliable intermediary to arrange the crucial meeting. The 25 year-old therefore despatched one of her male slaves with a message to her mother, 51 year-old Domitia Lepida, from whom she had latterly been estranged but whom she also believed would help out of maternal instinct. (Imperial palace, Rome, that night) ‘Aristotle used to define justice as “a virtue of the soul distributing that which each person deserved”.’ - Diogenes Narcissus was becoming very worried. Not only had Messalina’s whereabouts not yet been ascertained but also Claudius, in his day-long drunken stupor, interspersed by bouts of fitful dozing, had been showing alarming signs of forgiving his wife for her blatant treachery. “Poor woman!” the Emperor had been heard to mumble several times between sips of wine. Even more disconcertingly, the Princeps had also quietly slurred a few times, to no-one in particular, “I’ll see her tomorrow!” Fortunately for Narcissus and unfortunately for Messalina, the Empress’ current location was given away by one of Domitia Lepida’s freedmen, sent to the Imperial palace from the gardens of Lucullus to try to arrange an audience with the Emperor for his mistress’ daughter. The Imperial secretary had intercepted the servant and solicited from him the information he so desperately sought. The messenger was normally very loyal to his female owner but there was a limit to such fealty, and the threat of a trip to enjoy the torture apparatus in the palace dungeons had overstepped this boundary. Meanwhile, the comforts I enjoyed, whilst already located in the dreaded basement facility, were significant but insufficient to reduce my horror at what might still befall not just me but Apollinus too. I was naturally grateful that the awful demise planned for me in Caius Silius’ garden had not materialised, although the pain from the stinging and untreated couple of blows of the whip, which had landed on my body, was a constant reminder of what might have happened. I was also happy that the Praetorians had permitted me to redress before being taken, with the other members of my deceased master’s household, in many horse-drawn wagons to my present appalling accommodation, a dark, dank, overcrowded cell. I was additionally pleased that I had been reunited with Apollinus, although I wished that this could have been achieved in far pleasanter and less perilous circumstances. The unease of everyone in our crowded cell, concerning what might happen to us all, was compounded when our numbers were occasionally lessened, an occurrence invariably subsequently accompanied by horrific shrieks, as torture equipment was utilised to extract information. None of us yet knew what had led to Caius Silius’ death at the hands of the Praetorians and why we were being interrogated in this terrible, but not uncommon, way by the same men. However, we all presumed that our master must have committed some terrible sin against the Empire for him to meet his end and us to be put to the question. (Former domus of Valerius Asiaticus, Rome, shortly afterwards) ‘Exitus acta probat.’ (‘The end justifies the means.’) - Ovid Messalina was rightfully terrified at the sudden appearance of the contingent of dreaded Praetorians. The Empress’ trepidation was not helped when Domitia Lepida suggested that her daughter should now die with dignity. In fact, Messalina did no such thing. The tearful Empress fell to her knees to scream pitiful entreaties at the Praetorians, most of who had enjoyed sex with her in the past. The 25 year-old’s pleas mainly centred round offering the soldiers great rewards if they would let her see her husband once more. However, her shrieked begging did not cause Burrus to experience any feelings of mercy at all. Instead, Burrus harshly grabbed Messalina’s hair, still combed in a sextet of ringlets to celebrate the ironically unconsummated marriage to Caius Silius, and pulled powerfully upwards to expose the Empress’ slim neck, which was quickly separated from her torso by one proficient swipe of the Procurator’s sword. Further irony was added to the occasion when Messalina’s decapitated body fell at the very spot, in highly picturesque surroundings, where Valerius Asiaticus had committed suicide. (Imperial palace, Rome, shortly afterwards) ‘Dictum, factum.’ (‘Said and done.’) – Terence (‘Heautontimorumenos’) Narcissus, always brave when needed, personally advised Claudius of Messalina’s execution. The freedman now feared how his drunken Imperial master might react to the disclosure. On hearing the news, however, the Emperor said nothing to his secretary. Instead, the Princeps turned towards one of his attendant slaves and ordered another flask of wine. (Imperial palace, Rome, dawn, next morning) ‘Ad nocendum potentes sumus.’ (‘We have the power to harm.’) – Seneca the Younger (‘De Ira’) The dawn sun was rising again over Rome, although I, of course, was unaware of this fact, being in the basement of the Imperial palace. In any case, my petrified mind was currently concerned with other matters, as I was dragged out of my dark dank cell, now much less crowded than earlier. Apollinus had courageously tried to prevent the Praetorians from taking me, first by desperate entreaties about our mutual lack of anything interesting to confess and then by offering himself instead. However, when neither tactic worked, my fellow 16 year-old had resorted to attempting physically to extricate my more diminutive form from the men’s grip. My brave friend was rewarded by a temporarily paralysing and agonising kick in the balls. When he eventually recovered, I had gone. In fact, I was now taken to a large torchlit room, full of bloody pools and dreadful devices of torment, where I was forcibly returned to nakedness once more. This humiliating action elicited some ribald comments and laughter from the Praetorians present, themselves stripped to the waist in recognition of the strenuous work they were performing, when they saw that their next guest in their torture chamber was a young eunuch. Nevertheless, their amusement did not make them any less efficient in tying me to the waiting rack. My arms and legs were soon painfully stretched out, respectively above and below my nude torso, which now clearly displayed my rib cage. An ugly smirking sweaty man, presumably the chief interrogator, then appeared at my side to command “Now, boy, tell me what you know about your master’s treacherous conspiracy against the Emperor!” Unfortunately, the Praetorian did not seem to like my uninformative but truthful answer, which declared that I knew nothing. A further turn of the wheel that stretched the ropes, which painfully bound my wrists and ankles to the fiendish contraption, also did not produce the type of confession the questioner was seeking. Meanwhile, Apollinus, in the cell nearby, began to sob when he appreciated that the screams he was now hearing emanated from my anguished lungs. (To be continued in chapter XXII – ‘Tastes’)
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