The Emperor's Stepson

Words by Robert Boucheron

Art by Sandra Eckert

My name is Lucius Domitius Ahenobarbus. I am ten and a half years old. I was named for my grandfather, a Roman consul. He was also a general who won a great victory on the Rhine, the northern frontier.

My father Gnaeus Domitius Ahenobarbus died when I was three. I don’t remember him. The emperor Caligula exiled my mother, Agrippina, and she left Rome without me. Caligula also confiscated my property. He was mad. After he was assassinated, the government restored my property, which includes the villa at Antium where I was born. I have not seen it, but someday I will live there.

For now, I live with my aunt Domitia at her villa in Campania. It is a working farm with cattle, pigs, grain, hay, vegetables, vines, and fruit trees. The house is comfortable, with a portico on the south. We are installing a fish pond to keep up with the fashion.

Mother writes letters to me from Rome. Here is the latest:

I am ashamed to hear that your Greek is better than your Latin. No doubt it is because you spend too much time with the servants. To improve your Latin, you will write a diary. A diary is also useful for keeping track of people, places, meetings, expenses, and personal goals. Mine goes with me everywhere. I find it indispensable. Form the habit now, and you will benefit later in life. I have notified your tutor.

* * *

I forgot to mention that the emperor Augustus was my great-great-grandfather and the general Germanicus was my grandfather on my mother’s side, the Julius family. They are as old and as noble as the Domitius family. Germanicus was a hero, but he died young. His brother, my great-uncle Claudius, is the emperor now.

After Caligula died, my mother returned to Rome and married Gaius Sallustius Crispus Passienus. He is very rich, a senator and former consul. Although he is my stepfather, I have never seen him.

“Why don't I live with my mother?” I asked my aunt.

“Passienus has a horror of children. At least that is what people say. In any case, you should live with your own family, the Domitii.”

* * *

I remember very little about my mother. She sent a picture of herself, head and shoulders painted on a board. Here is the letter that came with the picture:

This separation of a loving mother and her only child is unnatural and absurd, but it will not last. For the time being, here is my portrait by the best painter in Rome, a Greek from Miletus. It is a good likeness, so I had copies made.

In the picture she looks like a goddess, with blonde hair, white skin, and a necklace of gold and jewels. Her mouth is closed, no smile. I show the picture to my aunt Domitia, who sighs.

“The lady Agrippina was the beauty of her day.”

* * *

Once I went to Rome. It was in April last year for the Secular Games. They are celebrated every one hundred years from the foundation of the city. They include military parades, horse races, concerts, plays, and speeches.

The nobility showed themselves in the parades and cavalry exercises in the Circus Maximus. With other noble boys, I rode a horse in the Game of Troy. The emperor’s son Britannicus also rode. He was only six years old, so a guard held him in the saddle. The people shouted louder for me than for him. They also shouted my grandfather’s name, Germanicus. They liked the way I handled my horse, but they loved Germanicus.

When a crowd roars approval, it can go to your head and make you dizzy. I gripped the reins and kept my horse in formation. The squad commander said, “Well done.”

Aunt Domitia and I stayed with my other aunt Lepida. They did not let me see much.

“The city is vast and crowded with visitors, too dangerous for a boy.”

Uninvited, Mother paid a call. Aunt Lepida stopped her in the atrium.

“What a delightful surprise! Agrippina, here is your son, growing like a weed. Lucius, here is your mother. What a shame she had to abandon you.”

“Exile is no place for babies,” Mother said through clenched teeth. “I didn’t abandon the boy, and you know it.”

“Tut, tut, my dear.” Aunt Lepida took Mother by the arm and firmly escorted her out. At the door Mother turned to me.

“When you are older, you must return to Rome. Then we will catch up.”

* * *

Another letter from Mother:

The autumn games were splendid, though I saw only a little. Passienus is elderly, and his health will not support crowds and spectacles. We escaped the summer heat in his villa, but I had to return to Rome to appear in public. Our social position makes it imperative. You should also be seen in public again. We will arrange something. I trust that you are not neglecting your lessons. Write to me by the servant who brings this.

I wrote a letter and my tutor corrected it so that my Latin was perfect. Then I copied the correction. That was my lesson for the day. When I answer that I am not neglecting my lessons, it is true.

* * *

Lessons take up the morning. My tutor is Beryllus, a Greek freedman. A boy my age comes from the next villa to listen and spar with me. His family is not as noble as ours. My lessons are in Latin, Greek, history, arithmetic, geometry, drawing, and music. I like drawing and music. The dance instructor comes twice a month for ballet and comportment.

Mother directs my studies from afar. Beryllus showed me the latest instructional bulletin.

My son should not study philosophy but stick to the basics. A Roman gentleman should be educated, but not too educated. Strength, courage, a smattering of law, and a good speaking voice are the essentials. Men of our class are born to public service, especially as army officers. Lucius will follow their example.

Beryllus is originally from Greece, the country called Boeotia, but he grew up in Italy. He was brought here as a little boy with his mother, a servant. His father was a small landowner who died young. They were of good stock, and Beryllus showed promise, so he received an education and at the age of twenty-one his freedom. He completed his studies in Rome, looked for a job as a pedagogue, and joined my aunt Domitia’s household. Now he is one of the family.

Beryllus is of medium height, strong and upright, with shoulders that stick out. He is left-handed and fair-skinned. He does not like riding or swimming or exercises like wrestling, but he does like to play chess. He is always polite in lessons, and he never beats me.

“Servants are beaten when they make mistakes,” I say. “It happens all the time.”

“You are the master, though I am older. In any case, you learn quite well without it.”

He is not yet thirty, but he is going bald.

“That is because I think too much. The heat from my brain dries up the hair on top of my head, like grass in a sunbaked field.”

* * *

When the weather is fine in the afternoon, I ride my horse. When I was little, the groom held the reins and led me around the farmyard. Now I go for miles on my own, and the groom rides alongside. We ride through fields, country lanes, and the wooded slopes of the Apennines. I sit up straight and keep my balance and use my knees.

My horse is an old mare. I named her Flower. After we return to the villa, I rub her down with straw and give her food and water.

“That is what a good rider does,” the groom says.

“Flower licks my hand because she likes me.”

“She likes the salty taste.”

The groom is Albius. He lives on the villa and has a son my age. He trains the younger grooms and stable boys. So he is their boss, and the bailiff is his boss. He also supervises the stable and gives me riding lessons.

Albius is slight and agile, with blue eyes. He does not talk much. Instead, he makes different noises with the horses, and moves in certain ways.

“Animals have their own language and customs,” he says. “Listen and they will talk to you.”

* * *

Mother wrote to my aunt Domitia, who reads the letter aloud:

Passienus died in his sleep yesterday. It is sad, but life must go on. Fortunately, we had no children. I am arranging the funeral and settling the estate. It is no consolation, but the estate is large. I am now a wealthy widow. And I am only thirty-one, young enough to marry again. I must visit my estates in Campania and Apulia, and I want to see my son Lucius. Expect me in a few days, with my staff and servants. I will not stay long, one night. Do not go to any trouble on my account.

My aunt sniffs but does not look sad.

* * *

Mother arrives like a whirlwind, after two days of travel from Rome in her new carriage, drawn by a matched pair of bays.

“The carriage was made to my specifications for comfort and security,” she says. She brought her lady’s maid, driver, groom, secretary, and another servant she calls her factotum, as he does everything.

Aunt Domitia readied the guest suite for her, made sure the linen was spotless, and ordered a special dinner for her arrival. Despite all the preparation, Mother barely noticed. She never smiles, and she does not look at servants when she talks to them. She is more beautiful than her portrait but cool, calm and collected, as my aunt says. She speaks in a low voice.

“This is my boy, Lucius,” she said. “Stand up straight, so I can see you. What a handsome young man you will be! How old are you?”

“Almost eleven.”

“Of course. You do not favor your father, which is just as well. Do you know what he said when you were born?”

“No.”

“He said nothing good could issue from our marriage bed. Perhaps he was misquoted. We did not get along, I’m afraid. Is your aunt taking good care of you? Do you like country life?”

“Yes.”

“So much fresh air and sun and nourishing food. You are as healthy as a bear.”

Mother looked as though she did not think much of country life. I did not know what to say.

“Take my hand, and show me the honors of the place. We will talk as we go. I must leave tomorrow morning.”

Mother spent much of the time dictating to her secretary, a freedman, or telling her maid to fetch this, or her factotum to do that. At dinner I lay next to her, with my aunt on the other side. She kissed and petted me, but when I threw my arms around her, she flinched.

“Be careful, darling. Don’t crumple my gown. When traveling, I only take a few things.”

* * *

This morning, we all stood in the yard, my aunt and several servants. Mother sat in her carriage, about to leave. All the baggage was strapped on, and the driver sat on top.

“Come sit with me,” Mother said, patting the seat. “You must see the interior.”

“No,” my aunt Domitia said. She grabbed my arm.

“Just for a minute,” Mother said, “so we can kiss goodbye.”

“Lean forward,” my aunt said, never letting go of my arm.

Mother reached out, grabbed my other arm, and tried to pull me inside the carriage. I yelled in pain and surprise. My aunt pulled me back. Mother yanked again, and I thought my shoulder would come loose. The bailiff intervened and called to his men. Our servants outnumbered Mother’s servants, and that decided the matter. Mother let go and laughed.

“Another time, dear son. I must be off now.” She rapped on the roof, and the driver whipped the horses. We leaped back to avoid being crushed by the wheels. In a minute, the carriage was gone in a cloud of dust.

“What nerve!” my aunt said. “Domitius you are, and Domitius you will be.”

* * *

The harvest is in. The servants worked hard all summer, and now they look forward to the easy months of winter. They have plenty to eat, fewer chores, and relief from the burning sun.

The leaves have fallen from the trees, and most plants have withered. But the grass is green. It is the season for rain. We ride under cloudy skies, and sometimes we get wet. The horses like the cool, wet weather, too. They snort and stamp and shake their manes.

* * *

The empress Messalina died a few days ago. Everyone is talking about it, and people sent letters from Rome. The emperor Claudius returned from an inspection of the new harbor at Ostia to find a wild party at the palace. It was supposed to be the vintage celebration. At the party, the empress married a man named Silius, though she was already married. Silius said he was now the head of state.

The guards killed him. All the party guests fled, and Messalina ran to her mother’s house. Her mother is my other aunt, Lepida. It is not clear what happened next, but the emperor was angry, and she died. Maybe she was executed. They say she was wicked and had deceived him many times.

“There are two sides to every story” my aunt Domitia says. “You must not believe everything you hear. Messalina was your cousin, after all.”

* * *

The bailiff took me and several servants to Capua for the autumn market. The farmers trade livestock, chickens, horses, grain, firewood, pottery, cloth, and anything else you can imagine. My aunt wanted to sell some surplus from the villa, and she gave us a list of things to buy, especially metal tools. There are so many people, and so much money changes hands, the market attracts jugglers, musicians, food vendors, gamblers, beggars, and riffraff. I was not allowed to wander by myself, only with a servant.

In the forum in Capua, I saw temples, statues of the gods, and statues of the emperors Caesar, Augustus, Tiberius, and Claudius. The emperors are dressed as victorious generals, in armor and cloak, with insignia related to particular wars or deeds. There is also a statue of Peace, who is a beautiful woman adorned with an olive branch, apples, and grapes. People tie ribbons to the statues, pour oil on them, and leave offerings. To the gods, they burn sacrifices, usually small animals and incense. While we were there, we left an offering to Jupiter.

I stared at Augustus and saw no resemblance. He made no sign. He has many descendants, they say, and many statues. His spirit lives in heaven, not in a carved block of stone. But they say that certain statues sweat or move or speak. A god can enter his or her statue. Gods can do whatever they want.

* * *

Mother writes again:

The emperor Claudius asked me to spend more time at the palace, now that he is a widower. I am becoming a great help to him. After all, I am his niece, since my father was his brother. Everyone knows that Germanicus would be the emperor if he were still alive. Some say that the emperor will marry again, and I am under consideration. Others say that a man cannot marry his niece. But great families are not bound by such customs. In any case, he is a dear old thing, and I make him happy.

My aunt shook her head as she looked at me, but she would not say why.

* * *

Today is the Nones of December, so my lesson was Horace’s ode from Book 3, a hymn to Faunus. I had to memorize it. Luckily, it is short, four stanzas. But the words are not in order, and the sentences are hard to follow.

“The words are arranged for poetic effect,” Beryllus says. “They show contrasts in meaning and sound, and they fit the meter, which comes from a Greek model. Faunus corresponds to Pan, the god of herds and flocks in Greece. Horace adapts well-known sayings about Pan, and he paints a picture of life in the country, the life we see around us every day. You see the young kid, the herd of cattle in the pasture, the smoke on the altar, and the people dancing on the earth in triple time. The wolf wanders harmlessly among the sheep, because Faunus protects them.”

“Why does Horace write about daily life?”

“He doesn’t always. You have read his patriotic odes. Here, he uses humble things to connect us to divine things. Have you ever seen Faunus?”

“No. I haven’t seen a wolf among sheep, either.”

“Yet Horace makes you see them in the poem. How does he do it?”

“By magic?”

“You are familiar with power, the force of muscles and steel. Language has power, too. Certain words and how they are used have force. Poetry is the highest form of language.”

“In that case, I will be a poet.”

* * *

Today is my birthday, December 15. I am eleven years old. My aunt arranged a dinner for the family, and a dinner for the servants, like last year. Mother sent a golden bracelet with a snake engraved on the outside. A letter came with it.

When you were little, two men came into the room where you slept. A snake darted from under the pillow and scared them away. Then the nurse found a sloughed snakeskin in the bed, which is good luck. I asked for the snakeskin and put it in this bracelet. I want you to wear it night and day for protection.

“Who were the two men?” I asked my aunt.

“They may have been assassins. Your cousin Britannicus was born then, son of the emperor Claudius. Someone in the palace may have thought you were a rival and should be killed. It is also possible that the two men were thieves. That was in Rome. Here in Campania you are safe.”

* * *

When weather allows, we ride through the fields or exercise the horses in the yard. It is better if the ground is hard, but often it is mud. I must wear a cloak and boots to stay warm. Today, the groom and I walked through the stable. He showed me the horses, pointed out good and bad points, and asked which ones I like.

“Flower has given good service, but she is old. You have grown and are ready for a change. Flower will stay in the pasture, and you can visit her there.”

* * *

On Saturnalia, our gang fought a war with the gang from the next villa. We captured the enemy’s flag, a great victory.

“We should have a bonfire,” I said.

The bailiff’s son Gaius ordered the troops to gather sticks and brush, and we made a pile. Someone got a light from the kitchen and Gaius lit the pile. It blazed up quickly.

There was no wind, but sparks flew high and landed on the thatch of a barn. Before we could climb on the roof or shout or do anything, the roof went up in flames. Everyone in the villa ran to the fire, but it was too late. They saved a few things from inside, but the barn was destroyed. Fortunately, there were no animals in it, only tools and lumber.

Gaius told the truth. He was whipped along with the others. I was not whipped, but I am in disgrace with my aunt.

“Last month it was the goose, and now this.”

“The goose I was drawing wouldn’t stand still, so I fixed it in place, and it died.”

“What has gotten into you?”

“I didn’t mean to burn down the barn. But it was beautiful. Flames shot up in the sky like giant golden feathers.”

* * *

Mother married the emperor Claudius on New Year’s Day. We got an official letter from the palace, and everyone is talking about it. Mother sent a separate letter:

The wedding was arranged quickly, as that day was auspicious, and the party was small. It is for the good of Rome. I am pleased with events. Soon, I hope to have more news that will affect you. It depends on the emperor’s will, but I feel confident that he will listen to reason. The family should be reunited.

“She may well be pleased,” my aunt Domitia says. Disturbed by this letter, she slams it on the table and dismisses the servant. She knows what the letter means, but she won’t tell me. The rest of the household is the same. They look at me as if I had changed.

During lessons, Beryllus is exasperated. He makes me recite over and over, as I keep making mistakes. Finally, he rolls up the book and slides it in its box. He sits on the bench and cradles his head in his hands, as though he has a headache.

“Am I a hopeless case?” I ask.

“You are now the emperor’s stepson,” he says. “Your career has begun.”

About the author

Robert Boucheron is an architect and freelance writer in Charlottesville, Virginia. His short stories and essays on literature and architecture appear in Alabama Literary Review, Bellingham Review, Concrete Desert Review, Fiction International, Louisville Review, New Haven Review, and Saturday Evening Post. He is the editor of Rivanna Review, a print quarterly and cable TV program, website rivannareview.com.

About the artist

Sandra Eckert is a doodler, a dabbler, and a messy and restless individual. An avid naturopath and off-the-road walker, she finds inspiration in the unscenic vistas and hidden places. While her interests currently lie in the world of art, she has been known to tend goats, whitewater kayak, fish for piranha, and teach teenaged humans. She is fascinated by the lessons of the natural world, both seen and unseen. Sandra holds a BFA with certification, and has continued her education both formally and informally, though she is too distracted to gather up her credits. She lives in Allentown with her husband, Peter, and her dogs, Jack and Tobi. Additional works are available here.