everybody knows you’ve taught me all I know. You wouldn’t me to show you up, would you?”
Balbillus smiled again. Shrugged. “Look at the alignment of his planets when the transient Moon enters his seventh house. As you’ll see, it predicts marriage.”
“I already have,” Agrippina said with what came very close to being a laugh. “But are you sure it’s his marriage?” She glanced at me. Her face reminded me of the iron mask her son’s family was supposed to have worn. “Epaphroditus, you may wait for me outside.”
After that interview with Balbillus she sent me out of her study very seldom. I was always there when clients came calling, keeping a shorthand record of the conversation, often hidden behind a curtain. The only time she had me leave was when Vitellius called on her a few days after she bumped into him outside Balbillus’s door. Although I don’t know what went on during that meeting, it was clear that when Vitellius came out he had one of Agrippina’s shoes tucked under his toga because the very next day he was singing her praises to the Senate, reminding senators that she had the blood of Julius Caesar in her veins, that her son was the grandson of Germanicus, that her morals were above suspicion. The emperor Claudius, like Atlas, carried the burden of world rule on his shoulders. The last thing he needed was domestic strife. Who best to crack down on palace intrigues that had already caused the emperor so much grief, than a woman born of Germanicus and Agrippina the Elder, a woman who, as the whole Senate knew, had an old fashioned Roman character as resilient as steel? Messalina had been manipulated by the palace freedman with disastrous results. Was there any man alive, expect of course for the emperor himself, who could manipulate Agrippina?
Although the marriage of an uncle to his niece was against Roman custom, several influential senators quickly came around to Vitellius’s point of view and no one wanted to be left behind. Two and a half months later, on New Year’s day, Claudius married Agrippina and I became the personal secretary of the most powerful woman on earth.
My good fortune surprised no one. By now everyone on the Palatine knew that Agrippina had chosen me as her personal secretary because of the brilliant promise of my horoscope. Suddenly everyone warmed to me, I became the darling of the court. Slaves gaped, whispering to each other in awe as I passed. Freedmen showered me with presents, grasping for access to my mistress. Women, some of them old enough to know better, offered themselves to me. I turned most of them down. None could compete with a swarthy Indian girl, recently retired from the emperor's bed, who taught me how to make love in one hundred positions.
“What’s Claudius like in bed?” I asked her while we rested between bouts.
She answered without hesitation. “Astonishing, for a man of his age. He has the lust of a goat. But he drools when he gets angry, spitting all over the place. He also drools when he gets excited by a woman, all over her, it’s disgusting but at least it’s imperial drool!” She reached down to my exhausted member with her slender hand. “Are you nearly ready? Just the thought of the emperor has got me itching for more.”
It took a few minutes’ attention from her clever tongue and capacious throat, but very soon I was. This was the life of a prince. Phocion’s shade no longer haunted my dreams. If it weren’t for Euodus I would have forgotten about Tigellinus as well.
Of course no one believed in my essential luckiness more fervently than Agrippina which was why she kept me at her side, jotting down the notes she dictated to me and recording her conversations with the droves of clients who called on her to discuss matters that were sometimes very confidential. I don't know if she interpreted my horoscope on a daily basis but she couldn't have paid more attention to hers. Every two hours, on the hour, when
Balbillus smiled again. Shrugged. “Look at the alignment of his planets when the transient Moon enters his seventh house. As you’ll see, it predicts marriage.”
“I already have,” Agrippina said with what came very close to being a laugh. “But are you sure it’s his marriage?” She glanced at me. Her face reminded me of the iron mask her son’s family was supposed to have worn. “Epaphroditus, you may wait for me outside.”
After that interview with Balbillus she sent me out of her study very seldom. I was always there when clients came calling, keeping a shorthand record of the conversation, often hidden behind a curtain. The only time she had me leave was when Vitellius called on her a few days after she bumped into him outside Balbillus’s door. Although I don’t know what went on during that meeting, it was clear that when Vitellius came out he had one of Agrippina’s shoes tucked under his toga because the very next day he was singing her praises to the Senate, reminding senators that she had the blood of Julius Caesar in her veins, that her son was the grandson of Germanicus, that her morals were above suspicion. The emperor Claudius, like Atlas, carried the burden of world rule on his shoulders. The last thing he needed was domestic strife. Who best to crack down on palace intrigues that had already caused the emperor so much grief, than a woman born of Germanicus and Agrippina the Elder, a woman who, as the whole Senate knew, had an old fashioned Roman character as resilient as steel? Messalina had been manipulated by the palace freedman with disastrous results. Was there any man alive, expect of course for the emperor himself, who could manipulate Agrippina?
Although the marriage of an uncle to his niece was against Roman custom, several influential senators quickly came around to Vitellius’s point of view and no one wanted to be left behind. Two and a half months later, on New Year’s day, Claudius married Agrippina and I became the personal secretary of the most powerful woman on earth.
My good fortune surprised no one. By now everyone on the Palatine knew that Agrippina had chosen me as her personal secretary because of the brilliant promise of my horoscope. Suddenly everyone warmed to me, I became the darling of the court. Slaves gaped, whispering to each other in awe as I passed. Freedmen showered me with presents, grasping for access to my mistress. Women, some of them old enough to know better, offered themselves to me. I turned most of them down. None could compete with a swarthy Indian girl, recently retired from the emperor's bed, who taught me how to make love in one hundred positions.
“What’s Claudius like in bed?” I asked her while we rested between bouts.
She answered without hesitation. “Astonishing, for a man of his age. He has the lust of a goat. But he drools when he gets angry, spitting all over the place. He also drools when he gets excited by a woman, all over her, it’s disgusting but at least it’s imperial drool!” She reached down to my exhausted member with her slender hand. “Are you nearly ready? Just the thought of the emperor has got me itching for more.”
It took a few minutes’ attention from her clever tongue and capacious throat, but very soon I was. This was the life of a prince. Phocion’s shade no longer haunted my dreams. If it weren’t for Euodus I would have forgotten about Tigellinus as well.
Of course no one believed in my essential luckiness more fervently than Agrippina which was why she kept me at her side, jotting down the notes she dictated to me and recording her conversations with the droves of clients who called on her to discuss matters that were sometimes very confidential. I don't know if she interpreted my horoscope on a daily basis but she couldn't have paid more attention to hers. Every two hours, on the hour, when
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