I lodged with Cassius Chaerea in the Praetorian barracks near the Viminial Gate. Of course, I had to be presented to the Emperor, and was obliged to attend one of his famous supper parties in Livia’s old palace. Caligula was, as usual, lounging on a couch. He seemed taller and thinner, his face had assumed a skull-like look, hollow-eyed and sunken-cheeked. He was nearly bald except for an incongruous tuft of hair which rested on the nape of his neck. He looked me up and down. I was obliged to kneel and kiss his slippered foot.
‘How is my darling sister?’ he lisped. ‘I often think of her.’ He repeated his ominous threat, ‘And, when you return, Parmenon, remind her I have daggers as well as islands!’
Chaerea had informed me that Caligula had banished many of his enemies and, on a mere whim, sent executioners to hunt them down and forced them to take their own lives. If they refused, they were cruelly butchered.
‘Well, get up! Get up!’ Caligula waved his hand airily. ‘I have to retire.’
I took my place on the couches which were arranged in a horseshoe around the Emperor’s which stood on a raised dais. The mood was one of sheer terror. No one dared eat without the Emperor’s permission and everyone was petrified of catching his eye. The Emperor withdrew, and when he returned, he was dressed as a woman in a beautiful silk gown, with a veil over his balding head. He wore artificial green finger- and toenails. He didn’t take a seat but clapped his hands and the musicians struck up the tune of a well-known Syracusan dance. The Gods be my witness, we had to sit and watch as the Emperor of Rome danced and cavorted as if he were a tumbler from Antioch. Of course, at the end, the applause was deafening. Caligula, still in his female clothes, returned to his couch, sharing it with an actor who was under strict instructions to treat the Emperor as if he was a woman.
I was forced to remain in court for the next few days. The Emperor lived in a world of his own. He often made public appearances in a woman’s cloak covered with embroidery and precious stones. Or, in sharp contrast, he’d wear the famous military boots which gave him his nick-name. He had an artificial golden beard which he would fasten to his face and carry a thunder-bolt trident or serpentine staff as he pretended to be Jupiter or Apollo. On occasions he’d disport himself as Venus, which was truly dangerous: with his bony shoulders and spindly legs, it was difficult not to laugh out loud.
Caligula’s only link with sanity seemed to be his love of chariot racing but even here his madness had eventually manifested itself. He fell in love with his own horse Incitatus and built him a marble stable with an ivory stall, purple blankets and jewelled harness. Before a race the entire neighbourhood around the imperial stable was put under armed guard, and sentence of death was passed on anyone who disturbed his horse. The charioteers were divided into different factions, with an intense rivalry between the ‘Blues’ and ‘Greens’. Caligula supported the ‘Greens’. Woe betide any charioteer from an opposing faction who threatened the Emperor’s favourites — they could expect either themselves, or their horses, to be poisoned. No wonder Rome seethed with unrest.
At first I was left alone by the conspirators. Caligula had me watched but, as the New Year came and went, dismissed me as a nonentity; he was more interested in the games and festivities planned for the end of the month. I was left to my own devices. I went out to the Via Sacre and visited the baby Nero. He was, as Agrippina had described him, a bouncing, unruly, little boy with bulbous blue eyes and a shock of red-coppery hair. Even then he was a born actor. I had to sit with his guardians while the little fellow sang and danced. I don’t believe in premonitions, yet, as I watched the child, I kept thinking of the monster on the Palatine. For the first time in my life, I quietly prayed that Agrippina had chosen the right course for her son. The aged aunt who looked after the boy was a cold, austere, old woman with a face like vinegar.
Never once, she proudly informed me, had she reminded the boy of his mother.
I smiled thinly and assured her that Agrippina would never forget such a remark. I also called on Uncle Claudius in the library of the Senate house. His twisted face was unshaven, his tunic and toga soiled with dust and ink. He walked me up and down the rows of shelves, dragging his foot behind him, whilst delivering a lecture on the possible ancestors of the Divine Augustus. Round and round we went until I became dizzy. In a shadowy, dusty corner, he abruptly paused and sat down on a stool, mopping his face with the rag he kept up his sleeve.
‘Are you part of it?’ he asked. His eyes had lost that empty, vacuous look. His mouth was no longer slack, the jaw line seemed firmer, his voice free of any impediment. He spoke clearly and distinctly whilst those shrewd grey-green eyes studied me.
‘So, you are Agrippina’s man?’ he asked.
‘I am.’
He puckered his lower lip. ‘And are you one of them?’ he repeated.
‘One of what, sir?’ I asked.
‘You know full well,’ he teased. ‘Caligula is going to die, isn’t he? He’s obscene. He’s mad and his wickedness grows every day. At the moment, he’s absorbed in his games but soon he’ll lash out once more and his kin will feel his wrath. The signs are all there. The portents. .’
‘What portents, sir?’
Claudius sighed. ‘The Capitol has been struck by lightning,’ he explained. ‘As has the Palatine here in Rome. Sulla the soothsayer sent a message to the Emperor to be careful.’ Claudius’s eyes narrowed. ‘Caligula has been told to beware of a man called Cassius. But we don’t need the Gods, do we, Parmenon, to tell us there’s going to be a change?’ He made a rude sound with his lips. ‘Oh, don’t worry, we can relax here. Spies find it very difficult to listen to conversations in a library, they can’t openly eavesdrop; it’s the best place to plot a coup. Come on, man, are you part of it or not?’
‘Yes, sir, I am.’
Claudius rearranged his cloak round his shoulders.
‘Now listen carefully, young man. Agrippina is directing matters.’ He laughed at my surprise. ‘Oh, didn’t you know she’s been writing to me? Don’t be offended,’ he soothed. ‘Agrippina wouldn’t tell you lest you were captured and tortured. She wouldn’t use you as a messenger for the same reason. Caligula is to be killed and the best chance is as he leaves the games or the theatre. If we can separate him from his guards, the others will fulfil their task.’ He tapped his sandalled foot on the floor like a schoolmaster giving instruction. ‘Cassius Chaerea is a leading conspirator. Caligula still heaps insults on him: last night he made him kiss his little finger then waggled it in a most obscene manner. My only fear is that Chaerea may not be able to contain himself and strike before we are ready.’
‘Will you be involved?’ I taunted.
In answer Claudius got up and stood with his fingers to his lips as he examined scrolls on a shelf. He murmured to himself and plucked one down, greasy and stained with age.
‘Do you know what this is, Parmenon? It’s an account of Julius Caesar’s assassination. All those involved in his murder died violently themselves. I will not suffer a similar fate. I will act the frightened rabbit, and I suggest you do likewise. If, and when, the blow is struck, distance yourself. Ensure that the young Nero is safe and sound, and that I — ’ he smiled ‘- am discovered cowering in some apartment in the palace. If that’s done, all will be well. The rest,’ he spread his hands, ‘is in the lap of the Gods. Now, I’ve got manuscripts to file and you’ve murder to plot.’
He rose and shuffled away. I suppose with someone like Agrippina you learn something new every day. I had always regarded Claudius as a fool, but Agrippina thought otherwise. She had learnt her lesson and, like Uncle Claudius, would not show her hand. Cassius Chaerea was different: his hatred for the Emperor was now a consuming passion. After nightfall, when free of the Emperor’s spies, we met the other conspirators out in the gardens or shady groves where Cassius’s men could defend us. Other tribunes of the Praetorian Guard were drawn in: Papinius, Asiaticus, Clovinus Rufus an ex-consul, as well as senators such as Balbus. The password was ‘liberty’ and the day of the murder was chosen: 24 January, the last day of the Palatine Games.