As Tullia scuttled back and forth outside the Curia like an agitated hen, loudly complaining about my father’s absentmindedness and dilatori-ness, she caught sight of a plaintive slave and an old man with a slave cape over his shoulders being led away by some Praetorians. When she got nearer, she recognized my father and, utterly dumbfounded, stopped with her arms outstretched, barring their way.
“What on earth are you up to again, Marcus?” she asked. “Whatever is all this about? I’m not forcing you to go to the circus if you find it so distasteful. There are others here who are not going. Come, let’s go home quietly if you like. I won’t even quarrel with you.”
The centurion, in his haste, struck her with his stave and told her to be off. At first Tullia could not believe her ears, but then she was so angry she rushed at him in order to scratch the eyes out of his stupid head, at the same time crying out that he would immediately be clapped in irons for daring to touch the wife of a senator.
And so the scandal became public. Several women got out of their sedans, ignoring their husbands’ protests, and hurried to Tullia’s assistance. When this well-dressed group of women surrounded the Praetorians, all loudly asking what had happened and what it was all about, my father was troubled by the attention they were attracting and turned to speak to Tullia.
“I am no longer a senator,” he said. “I am going with the centurion of my own free will. Remember your rank and don’t shriek like a fishwife. As far as I am concerned, you can go alone to the circus. I don’t think there’s anything to stop you.”
“Hercules save me,” said Tullia, bursting into tears, “no one has ever called me a fishwife before. If you’re so offended by what I said about your Christians last night, then you might have said so straight out instead of sulking all evening. There’s nothing worse than a man who won’t speak out, but just remains as dumb as an ox for days and days.”
Several senators’ wives laughingly agreed in an attempt to smooth things over.
“That’s right, Manilianus,” they said. “You needn’t throw away your ivory stool just because of a little squabble. Stop this foolishness now and forgive Tullia if she’s hurt you in some way. You are man and wife, after all, and you’ve grown gray respectably together over the years.”
Tullia was deeply offended and snatched her festive veil from her head.
“Look for yourselves, you old gossips,” she cried, “and see if I’ve got as much as one single gray hair in my head. And it’s not dyed either, although I do use Arabian rinses, of course, to bring out the natural color of my hair. All that nonsense about dyeing it is just envy and slander.”
385
“This is a solemn moment in my life,” my father said to the centurion, “perhaps the most solemn ever. I cannot endure this female chatter a moment longer. Take me away from this dreadful noise as you have been ordered to.”
But the women were still all around them and the centurion did not dare order his men to make a way for them by force for he had already been reprimantled for simply touching Tullia. Besides, he was not quite sure what was happening.
When Tigellinus noticed the crowd gathering and the noise increasing, he pushed his way through to my father, his face gray with anger, and he struck Tullia in the chest with his fist.
“Get to Orcus, you damned bitch,” he said. “You’re no senator’s wife any longer and you’re not protected by rank. If you don’t keep your mouth shut at once, I’ll have you arrested for disturbing the peace and insulting the Senate.”
Tullia turned deathly pale when she saw that he was serious, but her sudden fear did not affect her pride.
“Servant of the devil,” she swore, in her haste remembering only the ways of speech of my father’s friends. “Stick to haggling over horses and fornicating with pretty boys. You’re overstepping your authority when you strike a Roman woman in front of the Curia. Only the City Prefect has the right to arrest me. Your own crude behavior will arouse more anger than my polite request to know what is going on and where my husband is going with his guard of honor. I’ll appeal to the Emperor.”
Nero had already reprimantled Tigellinus for mismanaging the arrest of the Christians and Tigellinus was annoyed about this. So he pointed to the Curia.
“Nero is still there,” he sneered. “Hurry up and appeal to him. He knows what’s going on.”
“Don’t throw your life away just for my sake, my dear Tullia,” my father warned her. “And don’t spoil the last moments of my life. Forgive me if I have hurt you, and forgive me for not being the husband you wished for. You have always been a good wife to me, although we’ve disagreed on so many things.”
Tullia was so happy that she completely forgot Tigellinus and flung her arms around my father.
“Did you really say ‘my dear Tullia’?” she cried. “Wait just a moment and I’ll soon be back.”
Smiling tearfully, she went across to Nero, who was looking discomfited, and greeted him respectfully.
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