pregnant bitch, we went home and ate the customary meal of boiled goat meat and wheaten bread baked in the shape of human sexual organs. Aunt Laelia drank wine and expressed pleasure that the wonderful Roman spring was at last on its way after the miserable winter. Just as my father was urging her to take her midday siesta before she began to talk about things which were not suitable for my ears, a messenger slave from Narcissus, the Emperor’s secretary, came running breathlessly in to say that we must go to Palatine at once without delay. We went on foot with only Barbus accompanying us, which surprised the slave considerably. Fortunately we were both suitably clad for the occasion because of the feast.
The slave, who was dressed in white and gold, told us that all the signs were favorable and that the festival rituals had been faultlessly carried out, so Emperor Claudius was in a very good mood. He was still entertaining the Lupercalias in his own rooms, dressed in the robes of the high priest. At the entrance to the palace we were thoroughly searched and Barbus had to stay outside because he was wearing his sword. My father was surprised that even I was searched, although I was a minor.
Narcissus, the Emperor’s freedman and private secretary, was a Greek, emaciated from worries and his prodigious burden of work. He received us with unexpected friendliness, although my father had not sent him a gift. Quite openly he said that at a time which foreboded many changes, it was to the advantage of the State to honor reliable men who knew and remembered whom they had to thank for their position. To confirm this he rustled in the papers concerning my father and extracted a crumpled note which he handed to him.
“It would be best if you yourself took care of this,” he said. “It’s a secret note from Tiberius’ day on your character and habits. They are forgotten matters which are of no importance today.”
My father read the paper, flushed, and hastily thrust it into his clothes.
Narcissus went on as if nothing had happened.
“The Emperor is proud of his knowledge and wisdom,” he said, “but he is inclined to fasten on to details and sometimes persists with some old matter for a whole day just to demonstrate his good memory, while forgetting the main point.”
“Who in his youth has not occasionally kept vigil in the groves of Baiae?” my father said in some confusion. “As far as I am concerned all that is in the past. In any case, I don’t know how to thank you. I have been told how strickly Emperor Claudius, and especially Valeria Messalina, watch over the moral conduct of the knights.”
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“Perhaps one day I’ll let it be known how you can thank me,” said Narcissus with a bleak smile. “I am said to be a greedy man, but you must not make the mistake of offering me money, Marcus Manilianus. I am the Emperor’s freedman. Thus my property is the Emperor’s property and everything I do as far as I am able is for the best for the Emperor and for the State. But we must hurry, for the most favorable moment is soon after a sacrificial meal when the Emperor is preparing for his siesta.”
He took us to the south reception room, the walls of which were decorated with paintings of the Trojan war. With his own hand, he let down the sun-blind so that the sun should not glare too strongly into the room. Emperor Claudius arrived, supported on each side by his personal slaves who, at a sign from Narcissus, sat him down on the Imperial throne. He was humming the Faunus hymn to himself and he peered at us short-sightedly. When he was seated, he looked more dignified than when standing, although his head kept nodding in different directions. He was easily recognizable from his statues and the replicas of his head on the coins, though now he had spilled wine and sauce on himself during the meal. He was obviously cheered by the wine for the moment and was ready and eager to tackle matters of State before he began to feel sleepy.
Narcissus introduced us and said swiftly, “The matter is quite clear. Here is the family tree, the certificate of income and the Censor’s recommendation. Marcus Mezentius Manilianus has been a prominent member of the city council in Antioch and is deserving of full compensation for the injustice that has been done to him. He himself is not an ambitious man but his son can grow up and serve the State.”
While Emperor Claudius mumbled about his youthful memories of the astronomer Manilius, he unrolled the papers and read here and there in them. My mother’s ancestry captivated him and he ruminated for a while.
“Myrina,” he said. “That was the Queen of the Amazons who fought against the Gorgons, but then it was a Trachian, Mopsus, whom Lycurgus had exiled, who killed her in the end. Myrina was really her divine name. Her earthly name was Batieia. It would have been more suitable if your wife had used this earthly name. Narcissus, make a note of that and put it right in the papers.”
My father reverently thanked the Emperor for this correction and promised to see to it at once that the statue the city of Myrina had erected in memory of my mother would bear the name of Batieia. The Emperor received the impression that my mother had been a famous woman in Myrina as the city had raised a statue of her.
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