Domina (Paul Doherty Historical Mysteries) by Paul Doherty Read Free Book Online

baggage down to the beach where the marines were camped. We were taken out to the boat and, sails unfurled, the bireme turned, canvas snapping, oars splashing, to make its way across to the waiting glory of Baiae.
    Agrippina lounged on a couch in the stern, flanked by Acerronia and Creperius. The sea was calm, just that gentle, undulating movement which always curdled my stomach. I ignored my seasickness and stared at the mist curling across the water. I was aware of the snapping sail, the creak of the rudder, the oarsmen ready to bend and pull, the cries of the pilot, the sharp orders of the captain. Could this be an ambush, I wondered? A trap? Yet the Praetorians seemed relaxed enough. They were dressed in half-armour and wouldn’t relish an accident at sea. The mist lifted, the afternoon sun grew stronger. Baiae came into sight, that den of sin, the playground of the rich and powerful. Green-topped hills overlooked white shingle and dark-green pines, the sun flashed on gleaming marble. Orders were rapped out. Agrippina prepared herself, trying to remain calm as, shielding her eyes, she studied the beach.
    ‘There’s a procession!’ she exclaimed. ‘Look, my son’s coming to meet me!’
    I followed the direction of her eyes and saw the flash of standards, the sheen of gold. I glimpsed soldiers, slaves in white tunics, silk-caparisoned litters, following a group of men walking down onto the beach. Agrippina was as excited as a girl waiting to greet her parents. As the bireme was expertly beached, a guard of honour ran up, a troop of Praetorians who helped Agrippina ashore.
    ‘Mother!’ Nero came running down the beach, arms extended.
    Agrippina hastened to meet him. They met in the most tender of embraces. He kissed her on the cheek, neck and breast before kneeling to hold her hand to his cheek. I studied the Emperor closely. He had got fatter, his reddish hair had been allowed to grow and was carefully coiffed and curled along the brow and nape of his neck. The barber had dusted it with gold. His cheeks and jowls were heavy, his neck thicker. He glanced past Agrippina. His perpetual frown, due to his short-sightedness, cleared and his popping blue eyes crinkled in a smile. I noticed his red-flecked beard and moustache and that he was dressed in the pale-green tunic of a lyrist. He got up, his pronounced paunch making his legs look even more spindly. He tightened the white silk handkerchief round his throat.
    ‘To protect my voice,’ he explained.
    Nero wore no other ornamentation except an exquisite emerald monocle which hung from a gold chain round his neck. Nero had seen me clearly enough but he elegantly held up the monocle and peered.
    ‘Welcome, Parmenon.’ As he spoke, his voice squeaked and he looked alarmed and tapped his chest carefully.
    He grasped his mother’s hand and walked over to me, studying me in that affected manner.
    ‘Your Emperor welcomes you.’
    His hand snaked out. I fell on my knees and he patted me on the head affectionately, as if I was a spaniel, before adding insult to injury by brushing past me to greet Acerronia and Creperius.
    ‘Oh, you can get up now, Parmenon,’ he called over his shoulder.
    I got to my feet, embarrassed by the mocking laughter from the small group which had accompanied Nero. They were all there. Seneca, the self-proclaimed great philosopher, grasping the folds of his toga as if he was to deliver a panegyric from the rostrum – Seneca of the balding head with the thick heavy features of a wrestler. He did not join in the laughter but raised his hand in salutation. Beside him was Burrus, dressed in elegant half-armour, his severe face impassive under close-cropped hair, and a look of distaste on his thin lips. He was a born soldier and ever ready to act the part. Tigellinus, dark as a Nubian, thin-featured, his eyes bright with malice, and that constant smirk on his ugly lips. A figure came from behind him: Anicetus, small, sallow-faced, dressed in a purple