Waki Waltari

The Roman by Mika Waltari

I was allowed only one more night with Antonia. That night cost me a million sesterces, the price of the guards’ fear of Nero and Tigellinus. But I was more than glad to give this sum of money. What does money mean against love and passion? I should gladly have given all my possessions to have been able to save Antonia’s life. Or at least a very large part of my possessions. But it could not be done.

During that night of melancholy we seriously planned to abandon everything and attempt to flee together to India, where I had business connections. But it was too far away. We saw that we should soon be caught, for Antonia’s features were known to every Roman, even in the provinces, because of the many statues of her, and no disguise would hide her noble figure for long.

Weeping and embracing, we relinquished all false hopes. Antonia assured me tenderly that she would die bravely and gladly, because for once in her life she had experienced true love. She admitted openly that she had thought of approving me as her consort, if destiny had so wished it, after Claudia had died in some way or other. This assurance of hers is the greatest honor I have ever received in my life. I do not think I am doing wrong in telling you. I do not want to boast about it; simply to show you that she really did love me.

During our last night she talked long and feverishly, telling me of her childhood and her uncle, Sejanus—who, she said, was to have made Claudius Emperor if he had managed to murder Tiberius and get the support of the Senate. Then Rome would have escaped the terrible reign of Gaius Caligula. But fate wished otherwise, and Antonia admitted that Claudius had not then been mature enough to rule. He did nothing but play dice, drink and drive Antonia’s mother to the verge of bankruptcy.

We sat hand in hand for the whole of that night, talking together while death stood waiting on the threshold. The knowledge of this gave our kisses a flavor of blood and brought stinging tears to my eyes. Such a night a person experiences only once in his life and he never forgets it. Afterwards every other pleasure and every other enjoyment is but a reflection. After Antonia I have never really loved another woman.

As the irretrievable moments rushed away and the morning dawned all too soon, Antonia finally made a strange suggestion to me, which at first dumbfounded me although I had to admit its wisdom after my first objections. We both knew we should have no further opportunity to meet. Her death was so inevitable that not even Fortuna could save her now.

 

 

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So she did not wish to extend her painful waiting, but suggested that I, in addition to the others who had already done so, should also denounce her to Nero. This would hasten her death, finally free me of any suspicions Nero might have and secure your future.

The very thought of such a denouncement was distasteful to me, but Antonia persuaded me and finally I agreed to her suggestion.

On the threshold of her bedroom she gave me some sound advice about certain ancient families with whom I should make connections of friendship for your sake, and others whom for the same reason I should do all I could to keep from power and office, if not in other ways ruin them as best I could.

With tears glittering in her eyes she said she regretted her own death only because she would have been so happy, when the time came, to have had a share in choosing a suitable bride for you, with the future in mind. There are not many left in Rome. Antonia urged me to arrange your betrothal in good time and use my judgment when the right girl was twelve years old. But you take no notice of my reasonable suggestions.

The guards grew uneasy and came and hurried me. We had to part. I shall always remember Antonia’s tearful, smiling, beautiful, noble face, haggard after the night. But I had an even better plan. It made it easier for me to leave her, although the steps I took were the heaviest of my life.

I did not want to go home, nor to see Claudia, nor even you, my son. I whiled away the time by walking around the gardens of Palatine. I stood for a moment leaning against a scorched ancient pine tree, which incredibly was still alive. I looked to the east and to the west, to the north and to the south. Even if all of it were mine one day, I thought, I should exchange the whole earth for a single one of Antonia’s kisses and all the pearls of India for the whiteness of her limbs, for love blinds a man wonderfully in this way.

In reality Antonia was older than I and her best years were behind her. Her thin face bore lines of experience and suffering and she could have been a little plumper here and there. But to me this thinness only emphasized her enchantment. The trembling of her nostrils and her skin was the most beautiful thing I have ever experienced.

In ecstasy, I stared down at the forum at my feet, at its ancient buildings, at the new Rome rising from the ashes and ruins, at the buildings of Nero’s Golden Palace which glittered in the sunrise over on Esquiline. I was not really thinking of sites and business, although it did occur to me that my old house on Aventine had become too cramped and that for your sake I should have to acquire a new and more worthy house, as near to the Golden Palace as possible.

 

 

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