Death at the Villa

DEATH AT THE VILLA

The four of us were playing a game with ivory dice when he hurtled into the atrium, wailing and tearing his robes. He stopped only to wrap his arms around one of the marble pillars that decorated the palace. “My friends, we are undone!”

As his few close friends, we were used to his dramatic behavior. Not only did he tend towards extreme emotions, but considered himself a great actor, so, as usual, we played the part of an adoring audience. I plucked another honeyed date while Neophytus responded to the loud wails and called him by the private name he had requested we use. “What is it, Lucius? What has upset you so?”

Lucius pushed away from the column, staggered a few steps our direction, and fell in a heap.

Sporus rushed to his side and grabbed his hand in concern.

“They have declared me an enemy of the state.” He panted. “It’s a death sentence. How could they do that after all I’ve done for them?”

I gasped and almost choked on the date. Declared an enemy of the state? Only the Senate could do this. But to the Emperor? This was no dramatic scene from his weird mind; this was serious. I, Epaphroditus, had felt it coming and tried to warn him, but, as usual, he did not listen.

He spun wildly, his eyes combing the walls and doors of the spacious room. “Someone could be on their way right now to kill me, and maybe you, as well. They will look for me here first. I must hide and collect my thoughts.” He threw his arms up in a helpless gesture. “Where can we go?”

All of us reacted in panic except Phaon. Stroking his beard, he answered, “My villa is several miles from the city. We can go there.”

“Oh, bless you. You are a staunch friend,” Lucius said, clutching Phaon’s robe. “Thank you. Now, let’s all disguise ourselves and leave as quickly as we can.”

We regrouped a few minutes later, dressed in rough street clothes, and crept through the rear garden gate into the city. We wind our way through narrow streets and back alleys. Dodging buckets of refuse thrown from windows and tiptoeing through the garbage on the street. I held a handkerchief to my nose to cope with the smell. We started at each noise created by the animals and humans searching for food, and kept casting fearful looks behind us. Escaping Rome was not a pleasant experience, made worse by Lucius’ constant whining and complaining. “You should have heard them! The cowards had the nerve to call me a monster and accuse me of treason. They claimed I misused government funds to rebuild after the fire and continued to hint I started the fire just so I could build myself a new palace. I wasn’t even in the city when the fire started. I was in Antium. Everyone knows the Christians did it. They were a foul sect. I stamped them out, though. I executed all their leaders.”

You could have hired someone to start it, I thought.

“You know I had to have a new home,” he pleaded. “I had to have a new palace, since mine burned along with so much of the rest of the city. Besides, my rebuilding plans included wider streets, more spacious homes, and fire-resistant buildings. The city would be a showplace.”

Well, if the plans for the new palace didn’t take up over a third of the city, they might not be so angry about it. My thoughts were treasonous and dangerous.

He continued his complaints.

“I don’t understand how they can call me a murderer. It was my mother who poisoned Claudius. I never wanted to be emperor.”

“That’s a lie,” I murmured. “You tried to get rid of her several times.”

“It’s all Mother’s fault. She was the one who wanted to rule, and she tried to do it through me. She was mad, you know. I had to get rid of her to stop all her interfering.”

“And your stepbrother, Britannicus?” I dared to ask.

Lucius shrugged. “He was attempting to take the throne from me. That was treason.”

“What about Octavia? Didn’t you have your wife executed?” Neophytus asked.

Lucius shot him a dark look. “I executed her because she committed adultery. She was also barren. I gave her head to Poppea as my new bride, so she would understand what she needed to do. How unfortunate she died in childbirth.” He looked fondly at the young castrated slave whom he had married. “I’m so lucky I found Sporus. He looks so much like Poppea and has been a faithful wife to me.” He wept again. “I don’t understand why people are so hateful to him. They call our relationship depraved and immoral.”

“Sire,” Neophytus objected. “Don’t you think marrying a young boy you had castrated is egregious and unnatural behavior?”

“Of course not,” he snapped. “I love him! Why shouldn’t I have a wife I love? Besides, I am Emperor. I should be able to do what I want without interference.”

He gave a long, exaggerated sigh. “The people, especially the Senate, never understood my dreams. I wanted Rome to be a showcase to the world. I worked hard to raise the standards of the culture by example. I took to the stage hoping to raise awareness of the dramatic arts, but the upper classes ridiculed my acting ability.” He wiped his eyes. “That was the greatest insult of all. Nevertheless, I continued my efforts to improve the Empire. I played the lyre at my banquets, and my subjects called me the Apollo of Music. I encouraged the people to engage in healthy exercise, such as sports, and demonstrated it by participating in the Olympics. I won trophies for my chariot racing. As a matter of fact, I earned many trophies.”

I curled my lip. Why am I not surprised?

The litany of complaints continued until we reached the drive to the villa. I breathed a sigh of relief as we plodded between the cone-shaped cypress trees that lined the stone road leading up to the steps of the palace entrance. At the sight of the palatial building, Lucius dropped to the ground, moaning. “It’s no use. They will look here too. They know you are a great and loyal friend of mine, Phaon, and will probably declare you a traitor, too. We are doomed.”

Silently, I agreed with him and wondered why I had bothered to come with the others.

He writhed on the ground. “Just dig a grave for me right here and kill me. I would rather die by the hands of my friends than my enemies.”

“Kill you—here? At my home, so I can be accused of murdering the emperor? You are crazy!” Phaon cried.

“You cannot expect one of us to kill you. If you are ready to die, then you must do it yourself.” I said.

“Oh, Epaphroditus. You are too cruel to expect that of me!”

“You are saying you aren’t willing to take the honorable way to die? Are you the coward everyone says you are?”

He scowled at me. “I am no coward. Of course, I can take my own life, but why should I? I have done nothing wrong. If it is so easily done, why don’t one of you do it first?”

The four of us traded looks.

“Why should we die for you?” I challenged.

His mouth fell open, and he blinked several times. “Be-because I am the Emperor and you are my friends,” he stuttered.

“You are no longer Emperor, Lucius. And we have no reason to remain your friends. You have nothing to give us anymore.”

His face suffused with rage. He leaped forward and snatched my dagger from my belt. I ducked, fearing he would attack me. Then he stepped back, waving the weapon back and forth.

At that moment, we heard the horses approaching the villa road. The condemned man cried out the words, “What an artist dies in me,” and plunged the knife into his throat.

We stood shocked as he fell to the ground, blood spurting. One of the horsemen galloped near and threw himself off his mount and tried but failed to staunch the bleeding. Sporus dropped to the still-warm body and sobbed.

Nero Claudius Caesar Augustus Germanicus died June 9, 68 BC. I had sponged off this man for years, living in the lap of his generosity and pretending to be his friend. Yet as I scornfully watched him die, my only concern was for my own future.

He went down in history as a villain, one of the worst emperors of Rome. But I wondered--which of us was the real monster?