When Pallas received the message from Nero, he was already under guard to prevent his sending a message to Agrippina. But it must be admitted that he appeared before Nero like a prince, not a flicker on his lined old face, as Nero, with delicate gestures, made an impassioned speech in his honor, not forgetting the Arcadian kings, and thanking him deeply for all his services to the State.
“I can no longer bear to see you becoming old before your time and being broken by the weight of your great burden of responsibilities, as you yourself have often complained about,” said Nero finally. “As a special favor, I shall permit you to retire immediately to your country estate, of whose excellence and luxury we all know, so that to the end of your days you can enjoy the wealth you have accumulated without the slightest mistrust or fault spotting your reputation.”
“I hope you will permit me, before I leave, to undergo the cleansing oath of the Capitoline, as is due to my position,” was all that Pallas could say in reply.
Nero remarked that in accordance with his oath, he could not demand such an oath of such a faithful and reliable servant of the State, but that if Pallas himself wished it, to lighten his conscience, then of course Nero had no objection. On the contrary. The oath would put an end to all the endless gossip which was circulating.
We expressed our approval with vigorous clapping, laughter and cries. Nero puffed up like a cockerel and smiled to himself in satisfaction as he stood there in his purple Imperial robe. Pallas contented himself with looking coldly at each of us in turn. I shall never forget his look, so full of icy contempt for us, Nero’s best friends. Since then, I have had to admit that a fortune of three hundred million sesterces is by no means disproportionate compensation for looking after the gigantic finances of the Roman Empire for twenty-five years. Seneca accumulated just as much in five years as compensation for his exile, not to mention my own fortune, whose size you will one day discover, Julius, after I am gone. I myself have not for many years bothered to find out even approximately how much it amounts to.
The presence of the Praetorians in the forum and in other public places soon attracted crowds of people, and the news that Pallas had fallen from favor aroused general pleasure. What delights a crowd more than when a rich and influential man falls from his pedestal? Soon the wandering jesters were imitating Pallas on the street corners and competing with malicious songs.
But when Pallas walked down from Palatine, followed by his eight hundred freedmen and assistants, the crowd fell silent and made way for his dignified procession. Pallas left his office like an Oriental king, his following glittering with valuable costumes, gold, silver and jewels.
Who is more ostentatious in his clothing than an ex-slave? So Pallas had ordered them all to come in their best clothes.
He himself was wearing a simple white tunic as he went up to the Capitoline, first to the mint in the temple of Juno Moneta and from there to the State Treasury, the temple of Saturn. In front of each idol, he took the cleansing oath and confirmed it again in the temple of Jupiter.
Hoping to throw the State finances into confusion, Pallas had taken with him all his freedmen who over the years had been trained for different tasks, hoping that Nero would be forced to recall him in a few days’ time. But Seneca was prepared for this. Five hundred skilled slaves lent by the bankers were immediately placed in Pallas’ building in Palatine. And several of Pallas’ subordinates abandoned him as soon as he had left the city, and returned willingly to their old occupations. Seneca himself took over the right to decide on financial issues at a high level and formed a kind of State bank which lent out huge sums to Egypt and the tribal kings of Britain. The money did not lie idle, but earned dividends for Seneca.
For several days Nero did not dare face his mother. Agrippina, for her part, considered that she had been mortally insulted, shut herself in her rooms on Palatine and called Britannicus in to her with his suite and tutor, in order to show to whom she would in future devote her attentions. Vespasian’s son, Titus, was one of Britannicus’ companions, as was Seneca’s nephew, Annaeus Lucanus, who despite his youth was too clever a poet to appeal very much to Nero. For while Nero liked the company of poets and artists and arranged competitions in the art of poetry, he did not like admitting that anyone could better him.
However cleverly Nero thought he had played his part in Pallas’ dismissal, he was still very uneasy when he thought about his mother. As a kind of penance, he devoted his time to training his voice under the supervision of Terpnus. He fasted and lay on his back for long periods with a plate of lead on his chest. His exercises were monotonous to listen to, and to tell the truth, we were ashamed of them and tried to make sure that no old senator or visiting envoy heard them.
The good news which arrived from Armenia just then increased Nero’s self-confidence to some extent. On the advice of Seneca and Burrus, Nero had summoned Rome’s greatest commantler, Corbulo, from Germany to quell the disturbances in Armenia, for the fact that this buffer state had been occupied by the Parthians was sufficient reason for war, according to Roman political tradition.
In the internal struggle for the supreme command, Corbulo and the Proconsul of Syria, by successful forced marches, had managed to occupy the banks of the Euphrates, and then had shown such resolution that the Parthians had thought it best to leave Armenia again without declaring war. The Senate decided on a feast of thanksgiving in Rome, gave Nero the right to a triumph and had wreaths put on his lictor’s fasces.
These measures were taken to calm the general unrest, for many people had feared that Nero’s resolution would lead to war with Par-thia. Business life in Rome was upset by the rumors of war, and the decrease in activity in the temple of Mercury did harm to all tradesmen.
At the end of the year, the Saturnalia were celebrated for four days, more wildly than ever before. People vied with each other at sending expensive gifts and the older and more miserly, who wished to adhere to tradition and exchange only clay figures and festive bread, were ridiculed. On Palatine, one huge room was filled with gifts sent to Nero, for the rich noblemen in the provinces had exercised their inventive powers in good time to find extravagant gifts for him. The Chancery was kept busy listing the gifts, their value and their donors, for Nero considered that his position demantled that every gift should be reciprocated with an even more expensive one.
Jesters’ processions wandered through the streets, citterns were played everywhere, people sang and shouted, slaves strutted about in their masters’ clothes and their lords humbly served festive meals and obeyed their orders during these days of the year when Saturnus made slaves and masters equal.
Nero held the customary banquet on Palatine for the noblest youths of Rome. At the drawing of lots, he became the Saturnalia king and had the power to command us to commit any foolishness he wished. We had already drunk so much wine that the weakest had vomited on the walls, when Nero took it into his head that Britannicus should sing for us. The intention was to humiliate him, and Britannicus was forced to obey the festival king, although his mouth began to tremble. We were prepared for a good laugh, but to our surprise Britannicus took up the cittern and sang movingly the most melancholy of all songs, the one that begins: “Oh, Father, oh, Fatherland, Oh, Kingdom of Priam.”
We could do nothing but listen attentively, avoiding one another’s eyes, and when Britannicus finished singing this song about the dying