The day was dark and about as gloomy as could be expected for the season. Something nasty hung in the air. Life in the Imperial Palace had been tense the last few weeks. Agrippina had been upset about something. Not angry, really. Just nervous he supposed. What about she wouldn't say. The only hint she gave was that she had been making plans, a surprise of sorts, which would be the surprise to end all surprises. "Ah," he had said, "My darling niece," then shifting on his lame leg, he had added, "My lovely wife. What you in your relatively short time upon this earth--and in this respect, at least, I feel assured I can speak with some authority--fail to understand, is that each new day brings new surprises, and no matter how great a day's surprise is, you have but to wait a time for it to be surpassed."
"You are right, husband," she admitted, brushing back her dark brown curls, "I am yet young and not always so cautious in my estimates as I ought. I must then," she winked one emerald eye mischievously, "redouble my efforts."
Caesar now looked mournfully toward the Tiber from his private balcony atop the Imperial Palace, which, he supposed, was technically, legally, all his private property; the whole of the empire was his if he so declared. Although he imagined Agrippina would demand that as well. To think an uncle, a husband, an emperor, had to appeal to seniority to get that woman to listen...
Caesar frowned. The chill wind had picked up and the gathering overhead suggested rain. What a dreadful day! Why if only he could command the rain as he commanded the legions, then he could lift his sunken spirits from the depths of the Tiber. But, he decided, he must first command his own household before foolishly meddling in the affairs of Jupiter and Neptune. Caesar sighed and limped pathetically away from the balcony, shoulders slumped, silver-gray head cast downward, just as the first speckles of water, carried upon a strong gust of wind, made their way to the palace heights.
On his way through the palace halls to the dining room (Agrippina had insisted upon dining with the entire family and a few friends she had invited for the evening) Caesar saw no one but a few palace guards and the two Praetorians that had accompanied him, albeit always at a distance for his privacy's sake. The walk was uneventful. That is until he reached the chamber adjacent the dining room. It was a large chamber with, like much of the palace, a marbled floor. In addition it had high ceilings, bronze-gilded pillars of Roman concrete, and was well-lit by torches on either side of the wall. At least it was normally well-lit. The torches seemed to have gone dead. But no matter, the darkened chamber and the shadowed corridor in which he now stood were along his regular route, and he would have no trouble making his way to the large double wooden doors that led to the dining room. In fact, he could already see a sliver of light flowing through the faintest of cracks between those heavy doors. He stepped forward boldly (although, as always, clumsily too) on his way to dinner.
"Caesar, stop!" came the harsh whisper from behind him.
Caesar recoiled in sheer terror, nearly tripping over his own toga, as he froze, curled in a half-standing fetal position.
"Y-yes," he managed when he realized it had been one of his two Praetorian Guards, both of which were now at his side.
"Princeps," one began, presumably he who had given the sudden warning. "You have to be more careful," the Praetorian was being cautious himself, concerned that he had frightened Caesar unnecessarily. "It may be nothing, but the Imperial Person should never enter an area such as this without proper lighting."
"Come now," Caesar replied, suddenly having regained his composure. "I imagine you are suspicious as to why this chamber is not lit when surely your captain has mandated it always be so?"
"Yes, Caesar," answered the guard.
"Do not fret! I have a perfectly reasonable explanation for it!"
The guard looked doubtfully at his fellow, but the other Praetorian gave no sign of noticing and stared unflinchingly into the darkness ahead.
"You see," Caesar continued, "I have known for some time that Agrippina is up to something."
"Caesar?" the guard asked, shocked. Even the other Praetorian looked this time.
"Yes," he replied matter-of-factly, "she is planning some sort of surprise party for me."
The other Praetorian had lost interest again and the first was looking rather disturbed at the notion that the rumors might very well be true; Claudius Caesar really was a doddering, absentminded old fool.
"I imagine tonight is the night, and my beloved wife has decided--" he went on, oblivious to the lack of attentiveness in his audience and only stopping to figure out what he was going to say next, "--decided that it would be better if... i-if I was... in the 'd-dark' so to speak..."
His reasoning was not especially convincing. Surely he knew that the lights within the dining chamber were lit? Why would the lights outside of it be out? Then again, why would an assassin leave those inside alight either, or the royal family, servants and guests fail to notice this anomaly right outside where they now prepared to dine?
"Nevertheless..." Caesar added, a note of caution in his voice, "You should probably go ahead, just in case my dear wife has left a gift in this chamber for me. I should not like to stumble into it. Bad leg, you know. Of course you know... everyone does..."
"Besides," he noted wryly, "if you happen to come across it you can move it aside so we won't inadvertently ruin the surprise."
"Yes, Caesar," the Praetorian resigned himself to his duty. He would be blamed for his lack of precaution if anything went wrong. He wished his fellow Praetorian would speak up. Reluctantly, he made his way across the darkened antechamber, the emperor uncomfortably close behind him. Having unsheathed his blade as quietly as possible--hoping any potential assailant lurking in the shadows had not seen him do so--he gestured for Caesar to give him more room as he crept the few remaining meters to the double doors of the dining chamber. Fortunately the old man had taken his non-verbal advice.
"Anything?" Claudius asked the silhouetted form of the Praetorian at the door. He turned to look at the Praetorian still behind him while waiting for an answer from the first. "Nothing behind us, I suppose?" The guard merely shrugged.
"Well?" Claudius asked again, turning to face frontwards once more, "I can eat my dinner in peace now?" Still no answer. In fact, he did not see the Praetorian in front of him anymore.
"Hello?" he called out. "Are you hiding from Caesar's wrath?" still no answer. "I assure you he has none. Nothing to be ashamed about, you were just trying to protect our person." Nothing but the still air and electric pinpricks crawling up his aging form. Claudius wouldn't be able to run if he needed too. Of course the guard was probably fine, and there was always the other Praetorian behind him.
"You won't find him anywhere," the words seemed to crawl off the very walls, but Claudius instinctively turned to face the only other person he knew to be about. the other guard still stood behind him, although he was not at all alert, not concerned, as Claudius now was. He was, in fact, still, stiff, almost statuesque. Something in the air seemed to have changed as well. The atmosphere grew thicker, the room grew larger, and static buzzed and clung to the hair on his arms and to his toga. Claudius would have liked to cover himself completely from the endless cold and dark, to pull his toga over his head as Julius Caesar had done when faced with the frigid embrace. The quavering in his delicate stomach was ceaseless. If only it would all stop; if only it would all end.
"He's gone," that voice, cold and deep as the grave, straight from Tartarus, surrounded him again. "Pity he had to be involved," it continued with a methodic languidity, "but I needed to speak with you alone." And Claudius was alone. The only company was the voice and still visage before him.
The voice had a presence all its own. Claudius sensed it behind him, but also to his sides. Above and below, atop his head and on the soles of his feet, he felt his skin crawl with it. He desperately wanted to turn to look for the hundred hands reaching for him from all directions, shades of men everywhere, but he could not bear to take his eyes of the monstrosity in front of him.
"Come with me," the wretch offered. No hand outstretched, no death beckoning, just an offer... or a demand?
It did not matter. Claudius Caesar would not, could not, go willingly. Even if he could convince either his good or lame leg to uproot from their current spots, his heart was sick with the dread of this thing before him. It would give out all too soon, he feared.
"N-no," he sputtered. "I w-will n-not. N-never. L-leave me be!"
"I shall," the thing responded to Claudius' relief, and then added menacingly, as if speaking as the grave itself, "for now. But you shall join me one way or another."
"Until then," the shade added. Even though he could not see it, Claudius could swear a wicked smile was spreading stiffly, to the sound of stretching leather, across the wraith's entire dried out face as it finished, "I bid you adieu."
Literally between blinks of his eyes the shade had vanished. In a similar period of time Claudius found himself, despite his lame leg, safely within the confines of the dining room and in good company at last.
"Are you alright, Caesar?" one of his slaves asked as he huffed and puffed.
"F-fine," he forced himself to say, "just getting some exercise."
He sat down at the table with his family and guests.
Within a short time his trademark absentmindedness had caused him to nearly forget what had happened and he casually began observing and conversing.
He looked at his wife. "You seem especially tense this evening, my dear, is it tonight that my surprise will be forthcoming?" he teased.
"It may very well be," Agrippina replied, biting her lower lip, "but you'll have to wait and see, won't you?"
"But it's been several weeks, and at my age I may wake up one morning and not be able to see anything at all." He hoped he hadn't sounded genuinely impatient when he said that. If he had, she didn't make an issue of it, so he quickly moved to small talk to avoid saying something genuinely stupid.
"What have our highly-trained chefs arranged for dinner tonight?"
"Well, husband," Agrippina smiled, "I had them prepare a special request--some of your favorites,. You'll see in a moment."
He returned the smile, knowingly, or so he thought. This, he decided, would be a special night.
"Oh boy! Mushrooms!" his adopted son, Nero, cried upon seeing the first course. "I've always loved mushrooms. But they're your favorite, aren't they father?"
"They certainly are," Agrippina glowed. "Why don't you pass them down Caesar's way?"
Caesar took a generous portion of the mushrooms, made in a delicious wine sauce he guessed by the fragrance, one of those southeastern Gallic wines if he was not mistaken. The taste seemed to confirm his suspicions. "Excellent!" he proclaimed. "Good choice, my dear. Now will someone pass me some of that fish? What kind is it? It looks different, but tasty."
"I don't remember what they call it," said Agrippina. "It is hard to pronounce anyway; one of the slaves can tell you, I'm sure. But what I can tell you is that it was specially brought from that great isle you conquered, Britannia."
"Aha! Here that boy?" Claudius looked over toward his biological son. The boy had been silent till now, he was a sheepish sort, not unlike his father. Nero had bullied him around too much, Claudius had recently decided. The two would work it out of course, but he might try to give the two a little nudge in that direction.
"Yes, father," Britannicus answered.
"Then surely you would like some?"
The boy didn't say anything at first. He merely looked between Claudius, Agrippina and Nero as if he expected some assurance from the others that it would be alright. During this time Claudius popped another mushroom in his mouth.
Finally Britannicus said, "Yes, I would like some very much."
Claudius gestured to a slave to serve his son, and then returned his gaze to the boy to smile and wink. That is when it first hit him. A wave a nausea nearly overcame him for a brief moment and he saw, or thought he saw, a pall clouding over Britannicus. The pall quickly took form, the form of a man bald atop--the laurels of victory covering this disfigurement--with hollowed cheeks and piercing eyes. He certainly had a slyness, a crafty look, about him. He was also well-groomed--even his eyebrows showed signs of care--and he wore the imperial toga with dignity. His skin, however, was sallow and sickly green, as if pond scum had been allowed to coalesce upon it. He, in fact, looked soggy. The toga also was soaked. Not with bogwater, but apparently with the man's own blood. Blood from twenty-three stab wounds which even now dripped upon the floor.
"Thus always..." the man said in that deep, breathless voice originating from somewhere outside his floating form. Next he gestured to his side where appeared a second man. It was Caesar, Claudius belatedly realized. Julius Caesar. And the second man, also nearly bald, was his nephew Caligula Caesar.
"Uncle," Caligula, equally dreary looking, said. "Our dynasty shall not escape this room." The dead Caesars then surveyed the occupants of the dining chamber suggestively.
No sooner had that prickling began again to crawl along Claudius' arms and legs than they were gone. Without a word and between blinks of Claudius' eyes, they vanished just as the Praetorian shade before them. This was unnerving. Claudius tried to calm himself and breathe normally again, to little avail. Claudius Caesar decided then that he didn't want any more surprises. Ever. For the rest of his life no more surprises would make him happy, he figured. He had had enough for a lifetime.
"Is everything alright dear?" Agrippina asked, snapping him back to the dinner conversation he was supposed to be having.
"Y-yes, of course it is," Claudius stammered. "I just had a thought, but it passed away."
A new legend
3 years ago
