_LOCUSTA._
‘Circe inter vernas nota Neronis.’--TURNUS, _Fr._
Nero had been angered beyond measure by the failure of both his
attempts upon the life of his brother, but he had also been a little
terrified. A feeling of the eternal sanctity of the moral law had
scarcely ever found a place in his slight and frivolous mind; but he
was by no means free from superstition. He did not believe seriously
in the gods; but he believed more or less in omens, and for a time he
wavered in the dreadful purpose of committing his earliest
unpardonable crime.
But he could not waver long. Britannicus was rapidly approaching
his fifteenth year. It was evident that he was also developing new
powers. He was already nearly as tall as Nero, and while Nero’s
early beauty was beginning to fade the face of Britannicus became
constantly nobler. All this Nero observed with deepening rancour,
and to this was added a secret terror. He began to fear lest the
Prætorians should find out their mistake in rejecting this princely
boy for one who, in spite of his small accomplishments, was so far
his inferior. He never visited Agrippina without noticing that in
some way she regarded Britannicus, if not as the mainstay of her
hopes, at least as the ultimate resource of her vengeance and despair.
But it was Sophonius Tigellinus who had the chief hand in goading
Nero to the final consummation of his guilt. The Emperor was not by
nature sanguinary; his cruelty was only developed amid the rank
growth of his other vices.
He was planning with Tigellinus a banquet of unusual splendour which
was to be held at the Feralia--the Roman All Souls’ Day, a festival
in honour of the dead--on February 7.
‘You will have to give another banquet, Cæsar,’ said Tigellinus, ‘on
the Ides (February 13).’
‘Why?’
‘Because that day is the fifteenth birthday of Britannicus; and I
presume that then you will let him assume the manly toga.’
‘You are always dragging in the name of Britannicus,’ said Nero. ‘I
hate it, and I hate him.’
‘On the contrary,’ said the Prætorian; ‘I should say that you love
him very much. Who can tell how soon he may be your successor?’
‘My successor?’ answered Nero, scowling. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I meant no offence, Cæsar,’ said Tigellinus; ‘forgive the
faithfulness of a friend and an honest soldier who loves you. Do
you not see what a fine young fellow Britannicus is growing? Octavia
brings you no children. He must in any case succeed you.’
Nero paced the room, as he always did when he felt agitated; and,
after leaving his remarks to work, Tigellinus added--
‘Besides it is not easy to divine the plans of the Augusta, with whom
at present you are on such bad terms?’
Nero strode up and down with still more passion, and Tigellinus
continued at intervals to heap fuel on the flames of his fury.
‘You heard the murmurs of applause which greeted his insolent song
the other night?’
Nero nodded.
‘Do you think that the Prætorians are absolutely loyal to you? I
have heard them talking about Britannicus among themselves. Pudens,
I know, is a favourite officer of theirs, and he adores Britannicus.
Supposing it came to civil war, do you think that you would be quite
sure to win?’
Nero still said nothing.
‘Why not put an end to the difficulty? Rome is sick at the thought
of another civil war. Every one would be glad if you put your
brother out of the way. And really, why should you hesitate? You
have attempted it twice already, only you have been unlucky.’
By this time the subtle tempter had worked the Emperor into a frenzy
of wrath and fear. The crime had long been assuming shape in his
mind, and in point of fact he had already incurred its guilt.
‘It shall be done on the Ides,’ he said. ‘Send Julius Pollio to me.’
Tigellinus struck while the iron was hot, and the tribune was in
attendance before Nero’s rage had had time to cool.
‘Bring Locusta here at once,’ he said.
The tribune executed the command, and Locusta’s green eye gleamed
even more balefully than was its wont when the tribune ushered her
into the Emperor’s chamber.
But Nero received them both with a burst of petulant anger.
‘You have failed me!’ he exclaimed. ‘You are traitors, both of you.
While you are taking measures to shield yourselves you leave me
obnoxious to the worst perils. I told you to provide me with a sure
poison.’
‘We were but anxious to avert suspicion, Emperor,’ said Locusta, in
the soft tones which involuntarily reminded the hearer of a serpent’s
hiss. ‘You know there is a Julian law against murder and poisoning.’
The anger of Nero showed itself in mean, ignoble ways, and, like a
bad boy in a passion, he was not ashamed to strike Locusta in the
face.
‘Don’t talk of the Julian law to me, woman,’ he said; ‘as if I
was afraid of the laws! Make me a poison which shall work like a
dagger-stab, or you shall be ordered off for execution to-morrow on
the old charges.’
Locusta shrank from his blow, and for one instant glared at him as
though she would have liked to poison _him_. But she knew his power,
and felt sure of his rewards; so she merely said--
‘Britannicus is such a strong, healthy boy, that the task is less
easy. But Cæsar shall have his wish. I have a poison here which will
do the work.’
‘Try it, then, on some animal,’ he said.
‘I dare say the tribune could procure me a kid,’ said Locusta.
A slave was despatched to find a kid, and when the bounding, playful
creature was brought Locusta dropped some of the poison on a piece of
bread dipped in milk.
The kid ate the bread and milk, and frisked no more but lay down and
curled up its limbs, which quivered with convulsive twitchings.
‘Leave the poison to work,’ she said, ‘and if Cæsar will summon me an
hour hence the kid will be dead.’
An hour later she was summoned. The kid lay on the ground, feeble and
with glazing eyes; but it was not dead, and Nero was in the worst of
humours. He pointed to the little creature and said--
‘Woman, you are trifling with me! Add henbane, or hemlock, or any
other infernal thing you like, to your accursed poison. It must be
made stronger.’
Locusta dropped other ingredients into the phial, and another animal
was sent for. The slave brought a little pig. Some of the poison was
sprinkled on a leaf of lettuce. The creature ate it, and in a few
moments died in spasms.
‘That will do,’ said Nero, flinging to the woman a purse of gold. ‘If
all goes as I desire, you shall have ample recompense. But breathe
one syllable about this matter, and you shall die under the scourge.’
She went, leaving the phial in his hands. He struck a silver bell,
and ordered Tigellinus to be summoned.
‘I have decided,’ he said to the Prætorian. ‘Britannicus shall die.’
‘You will deserve the title of “father of your country,” which you
so modestly rejected,’ said Tigellinus. ‘Augustus received that title
on the Nones of February, more than eighty years ago; doubtless the
Senate will confer it upon you soon after the Ides.’
‘But how is the deed to be done?’ asked Nero gloomily. ‘I shrink from
the business even if it be necessary.’
‘What are you afraid of, Cæsar?’
‘The voice of the people. It can shake the throne of the greatest.’
‘How will the people know anything about it?’
‘Britannicus has a _prægustator_, just as I and Agrippina have.
If that wretch is poisoned too, every one will know what has taken
place.’
‘His _prægustator_ is--?’
‘A freedman named Syneros.’
‘In your pay, of course?’
Nero nodded.
‘And you can trust him?’
Nero nodded again.
‘Then leave the rest to me,’ said Tigellinus, ‘and do not trouble
yourself any further in the matter. If I have your orders, regard the
deed as done.’
‘I give no orders,’ said Nero; ‘but here is Locusta’s poison.’
* * * * *
Glad of her success in having twice saved the life of Britannicus,
Acte was more than ever determined to be a watchful guardian over
him. She was feverishly anxious to ascertain every plot formed
against him, and had gone so far as to take a step of extreme peril.
She had heard that, in the reign of Tiberius, when evidence had been
wanted against the Consular Sabinus, three persons of no less rank
than senator had concealed themselves in the roof, and looked down
through Judas-holes, to report his conversation. Might she not use
for good the devices which had been perverted to such deadly ends? At
any rate she would try. She ascertained from Tigellinus that Nero had
been amusing himself by trying the efficacy of certain poisons, and
he mentioned this in answer to Acte’s inquiries as to the reason why
his slaves had carried a dead kid out of Nero’s room.
But Acte learnt more by her other devices. The rooms which she
occupied happened to adjoin the apartment assigned to Tigellinus;
and by pretending a desire for some small repairs she had ordered
the marble panelling of her room to be removed in one corner, and
a cupboard to be constructed behind it. A person concealed in this
recess could, by the aid of a few holes perforated in the walls,
hear what was going on in the room of Tigellinus. Then she sent to
Onesimus the coin on which was the head of Britannicus, and when he
came to her room she concealed him in the recess, and he overheard
enough to make him suspect that Britannicus was to be poisoned a week
later.
The information was vague, and to act upon it was perilous; but Acte
told Onesimus to inform Titus, and then to use their combined wit to
defeat, at all costs, the wicked plan.
And this Onesimus meant to do, and might have done but for his own
misconduct.
He was weak in character, and if he had gone astray in the safe
obscurity of the house of Pudens he was liable to far worse
temptations in the _familia_ of the Palace. All his old companions
cringed to the handsome slave of Octavia, who might rise, as others
had done, to be an all-powerful freedman. With his youth, his
quickness, his good looks, who could tell whether he might not even
become a favourite of Cæsar himself, and have untold influence and
power? Onesimus found himself the centre of flattering attention in
the slave world both of the Palace and the city. He began to think
himself a person of importance. Was he not under the immediate
patronage of Acte, and, in order to avoid scandal, had it not
even been necessary to make it known that he was her kinsman and
foster-brother, brought up under the same roof?
Onesimus was too unstable to withstand the combined temptations by
which he was surrounded. The image of Junia might have acted as an
amulet, but he scarcely ever got an opportunity of seeing her, for
Nereus looked upon him with anything but favour. He kept aloof from
Christians, for he never heard them mentioned except with contempt
and hatred, and he liked the atmosphere of compliment and pleasure.
Slaves naturally imitate the vices of their masters, and the wicked
world of the aristocracy was reflected in darker colours in the
wicked world of servile myriads. Flinging all that he had learnt of
morals to the winds, betting, gambling, frequenting the lewdest shows
of the theatre and the most sanguinary spectacles of the games, and
forever haunting the cook-shops, the taverns, and the =_Subura_=, he
spent his almost unlimited leisure in that vicious idleness above
which only the best slaves had strength to rise.
And so it happened that at the time when he ought to have been most
on the alert he got entangled in a low dispute at a drinking bout,
and returned to the Palace not only wounded and smeared with blood,
but also in a state of shameful intoxication. In this guise Nero had
seen him, and, without even knowing his name, or anything about him,
had furiously ordered him to be taken to his steward, Callicles,
for severe punishment. He had again been scourged, put into fetters,
thrust into a prison, and fed on bread and water. This disgrace
was concealed from Acte, and while she was relying upon his quick
intelligence to convey a warning to Britannicus, and to devise means
of frustrating the plot of Tigellinus, Onesimus lay sick, and shamed,
and fettered in a prison among the lowest of offending slaves.