Domina (Paul Doherty Historical Mysteries) Read Online Free PDF

Agrippina asked. ‘Why such stupidity? Doesn’t Seneca have any control over him?’
    Creperius’s face became tight. He pulled a towel from the edge of the bath and wiped his face.
    ‘Domina,’ he whispered hoarsely. ‘Nobody knows what’s coming. Nero is changing. He’s becoming uncontrollable and vermin like Tigellinus urge him on.’
    ‘Caligula!’ The word was out of Domina’s mouth before she could stop it.
    ‘Yes,’ Creperius agreed. ‘They are whispering that Caligula has returned.’
    Agrippina’s fingers flew to her cheeks. She stared fearfully across the steam-filled room as if she could see Caligula, ‘Little Boots’, her mad, corrupt, obscene brother who believed he could make love to the moon.
    ‘Impossible!’ Agrippina shook her head and got to her feet. ‘That’s impossible! We’ll talk tonight, Creperius. I’ll hold a banquet in your honour!’ And she fled the room.
    Agrippina soon recovered herself, summoning the cooks and servants, issuing orders for the banquet that same evening. We did not eat in the triclinium but in a marble enclave on the east side of the villa overlooking the sea. It was a beautiful, early spring evening, with the weather growing soft and balmy. Agrippina acted as if she was still Empress of Rome. The marble walls were brought to life by a myriad of oil lamps and candles. The floor was swept, washed and covered in golden sawdust. Tables and couches were draped in silk and gold, ivory tasselled cushions were scattered about small polished tables set aside for the wine.
    ‘Always keep the wine in full view covered by a cloth,’ Agrippina warned. ‘It keeps away both flies and poisoners.’
    Only four of us were present. Domina, myself, Acerronia and Creperius. Agrippina’s chefs did us proud. Accompanied by every sort of wine, there were mantis prawns, African snails, mussels and shellfish cooked in Chian wine, Trojan pig, gutted, roasted and stuffed with meats and different kinds of fish; even a lamprey outstretched on a platter with shrimps swimming all about it. Agrippina looked magnificent in pearl earrings and necklace, dressed in a pure white stola fringed with purple and gold with matching sandals. She lay on the couch like a young woman pretending to be Venus, waiting to be carved in stone by one of Rome’s master sculptors. Wine was passed round, and toasts were made, while Creperius gave us the gossip of Rome. A young actor, Appius, whilst showing off, had thrown a pear in the air and caught it in his mouth only to choke to death; a madman, Macheon, had climbed onto the altar in the Temple of Jupiter, uttering wild prophecies before he killed himself and the puppy he carried; the traffic in Rome was worse than ever.
    ‘It would wake a sea calf,’ Creperius murmured. ‘Litters, wagons, there’s no order.’
    And then he said the words that I was to remember, later.
    ‘Your son Nero is disgusted with the city. He claims there is nothing wrong with Rome that a good fire couldn’t cure.’
    A cold breeze wafted in, chilling the sweat and silencing the conversation. All I could hear was the distant roar of the sea, the surf pounding the rocks, and the cry of the gulls as they swept in before the sun finally set.
    Agrippina had listened carefully to Creperius’s chatter, allowing the servants to finish their tasks. Once they were gone, she unfastened the pearl ring from her right ear lobe. She dropped it into a small jar of vinegar and watched it dissolve.
    ‘Cleopatra did this once,’ she murmured. ‘She took a pearl worth one million sesterces and watched it crumble.’ She smiled. ‘An offering to the Gods.’
    ‘I thought you didn’t believe in them,’ I retorted. Agrippina shrugged one shoulder. ‘Gods,’ she whispered. ‘Or just the approach of darkness? Well, Creperius, what other news from Rome?’
    ‘Seagulls are regarded as a delicacy. Amerlius has gone into mourning because one of his lampreys died.’
    Agrippina made a