“The gods never allowed me children of my own,” Tullia went on sadly, “only miscarriages which I went to great trouble to arrange in my youth and during my two marriages. My third husband was sterile because of his great age, even if he was otherwise rich. And Marcus wasted his seed on a Greek pleasure-girl. But enough of that. I do not wish to offend the memory of your mother, my dear Minutus. This British boy I see as a good omen in our house. Marcus, you must save the handsome Jucundus from your feeble son’s guardianship. Who knows, otherwise Sabina might turn him into an animal trainer one day. Couldn’t we adopt him and bring him up as our own child?”

I was paralyzed with surprise and at first my father did not know what to say either. Now that I think about it, I can only imagine that there must have been some supernatural power within my mother’s wooden goblet.

In this way I was relieved of a heavy duty, for at that time I was not really fit to bring up anyone, no more then than now. This I have learned from you, Julius. For many reasons my reputation was not a good one, while my father was regarded as a good-natured fool. He had no ambi- tions and no one thought he would ever willingly become involved in political intrigues.

As an expert in Eastern matters, he had filled the office of Praetor for two months for the sake of form. He had once, from sheer good will, been proposed as Consul. If Jucundus became his adoptive son, the boy would have incomparably better prospects than he would under my protection. And as a senator’s son he could be written into the rolls of knights as soon as he had shed his boy’s clothes.

* * *

Shortly after I had solved this problem, I heard that the Praetorian Prefect Burrus had developed a boil in his throat and was dying. Nero hastily sent his own personal physician to attend him. When Burrus was informed of this, he drew up his will and sent it for safekeeping to the Vestal temple.

Not until then did he allow the physician to paint his throat with an infallible remedy on a feather. The next night he was well and truly dead. Presumably he would have died in any case, for blood poisoning had set in and he had begun to be delirious with fever.

Burrus was buried with great ceremony. Before the pyre was lit on Mars field, Nero proclaimed Tigellinus Praetorian Prefect. This former horse dealer did not have sufficient judicial experience, so Fenius Ru-fus, a man of Jewish descent, formerly very widely traveled in his capacity as State Inspector of the grain trade, was appointed to deal with external cases.

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I walked the whole length of the goldsmiths’ street to find a sufficiently worthy gift. Finally I decided on a multistringed necklace of faultless pearls and with it I sent the following letter to Poppaea Sabina:

Minutus Lausus Manilianus greets Poppaea Sabina: Venus was born from the foam of the waves. Pearls are a worthy gift to Venus, but the most faultless radiance of these humble Parthian pearls cannot compare with the shimmer of your complexion. I can never forget it. I hope these pearls will remind you of our friendship. Certain signs and omens show that the prophecy you were once pleased to reveal to me is about to be fulfilled.

Obviously I was the first to interpret the omens so skillfully, for Poppaea sent for me at once, thanked me for the beautiful gift and tried to find out how I could have known that she was pregnant, when she herself had known only a few days before. I could only point out my Etruscan heritage, which sometimes helped me with unusual dreams. “After his mother’s death,” said Poppaea, “Nero was upset and tried to push me to one side. But now all is well again. He needs his real friends who will stand by him and support him in his policies.”

This was indeed true, for after he had publicly reproached Octavia for barrenness and informed the Senate that he was thinking of separating from her, violent disturbances had broken out in the city. To test the feelings of the people, Nero had a statue of Poppaea erected in the forum near the Vestal Virgins’ well. A crowd threw it down, garlanded the statues of Octavia and then made their way up to Palatine, so that the Praetorians had to take to their arms to persuade them to go away.

I suspected that Seneca’s clever fingers were in this game, since the uprising and demonstration had been so spontaneous and apparently well planned. Nero, however, was badly frightened and at once recalled Octavia, who was on her way to Campania on his orders. Jubilant crowds followed her sedan and offers of thanksgiving were made in the temples of the Capitoline when she was back in Palatine.

The following day, for the first time in two years, I received an urgent summons from Nero. One of Octavia’s servant girls had accused her of adultery with an Alexandrian flute player called Eucerus. The trial was held in secret and had been arranged by Tigellinus. Octavia herself was not present.

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