This, then, was the Piso whom the conspirators of AD 65 planned to put on the throne in Nero’s place. Tacitus was convinced that Piso did not have the notion or the ambition to take the throne for himself until he was approached by others. The historian was even skeptical that Piso would be prepared to divorce his beautiful wife, Atria Galla, whom he had stolen from her previous husband and to whom he was famously devoted, to marry Antonia, the daughter of Claudius. Tacitus could only excuse Piso by suggesting that “the lust for dominion inflames the heart more than any other passion.”
13
Tacitus revealed that he obtained his account of the conspiracy from Pliny the Younger and did not know where Pliny came by his information. It is likely that Pliny’s informant was his uncle’s good friend Vespasian, who, while unconnected with the conspiracy, remained close enough to Nero to learn the facts of the matter in due course.
The initial revolutionary quartet soon attracted seven adherents from among clients, all of whom were members of the Equestrian Order, then cast about for supporters within the military. It was then that the feelings of the tribune Subrius and centurion Sulpicius became known to them, and through that pair, another two Praetorian tribunes and two centurions were also recruited into the plot. By February, one of the Equestrians had communicated with Piso and informed him of the conspiracy, its intentions, and its members. Piso said nothing to discourage the scheme, but he did not appear wholly enthusiastic, either.
The fact that four of the fourteen tribunes of the Praetorian Cohorts were party to the conspiracy would have been impressive to Piso, but not enough for him to sleep soundly, for the majority of tribunes might remain loyal to Nero. There could be no doubt that the success or failure of the planned coup would rest on the involvement of the capital’s military. It had, after all, been the support of the Praetorians that had brought both Claudius and Nero to power. Piso soon heard that Faenius Rufus, Tigellinus’ overshadowed co-prefect and a man of “esteemed life and character,” was in sympathy with the revolutionaries.
14
There was no doubting that Prefect Rufus was intimidated by his colleague Tigellinus, who, through “his brutality and shamelessness was held higher in the emperor’s regard” than Rufus.
15
More than that, Tigellinus had more than once hinted that if Rufus stood in his way, he would tell the emperor that Rufus had once had an affair with Agrippina and had mourned her murder to the extent that he craved vengeance against Nero. For the past several years, Rufus had allowed Tigellinus to do much as he pleased, although since the Great Fire, Tigellinus had been maintaining an uncharacteristically low profile, as if on the outs with Nero, which would have encouraged the conspirators.
Because Rufus was seen to be such an upright man, no one had the courage to come straight out and ask him if he would support the assassination of the emperor, for fear that he would feel obliged to arrest them. Questions, while appearing to be casual, though carefully designed to gauge the man’s position, were put to Rufus by the plotters, with the result that “the conspirators were assured by his own repeated language that the prefect of the Praetorian Cohorts had come over to their side.”
16
This was communicated to Piso, and the plotters eagerly resumed their debate about a time and place for the fatal deed.
In one of these furtive discussions, Praetorian tribune Subrius Flavus suddenly offered to attack Nero when he was singing on the stage, or to set fire to his residence one night and then run him through in the ensuing chaos. But on thinking about it more deeply, Flavus came to the conclusion that in both cases, it would be next to impossible to escape following the crime—“that enemy of all great enterprises,” according to Tacitus. Even if Flavus were successful, on the stage or in a burning palace, he feared that Nero’s German bodyguards must surely catch him. For want of suicidal courage, the tribune withdrew his offer. So, the conspirators, still in quest of an idea and an opportunity for the perfect murder where no one would be apprehended, again hesitated to act, suspended as they were “between hope and fear.”
By this time, a woman had become aware of the plot. Epicharis was a wealthy freedwoman—a widow, it seems. How she came to learn of the conspiracy is unclear, but she took it on herself to move it forward, even though, Tacitus would sarcastically remark, she had never before had a single noble thought in her head. Tired of the delays that had prevented the male plotters from going ahead with their plot, Epicharis came up with a plot of her own.
Epicharis decided that, while staying in Campania during the early spring, as was her habit, she would use her contacts within the Tyrrhenian Fleet to bring naval officers into the plot. She was acquainted with warship captain Volusius Proculus, who had commanded the collapsing vessel during the failed attempt to kill Nero’s mother and later participated in dispatching her. Their friendship was intimate enough for Epicharis to be aware of Proculus’ role in the murder of Agrippina and to know that the captain privately complained of not being well enough rewarded for that episode.
The admiral Anicetus had since left his post and left Italy, having in AD 62 volunteered to help Nero discredit his first wife, Octavia, by claiming that he’d had an affair with her. On Anicetus’ evidence, Octavia had been banished to the prison island of Pandataria, where she was before long executed. Anicetus’ “punishment” had been exile to the island of Sardinia, where he now lived on an estate, in the lap of luxury, at the emperor’s expense. On Anicetus’ departure, Proculus had expected his post as admiral of the fleet. But promotion had not come Proculus’ way; hence his bitterness.
At the end of March, Epicharis dined with the disgruntled captain and discussed assassinating the emperor, hoping that Proculus would bring in other officers of the fleet. Proculus was receptive, telling Epicharis that he was determined to have his revenge on Nero and had been looking for the right opportunity. He said that he was not alone in despising Nero.
“No small help will be found in the fleet,” the captain told Epicharis.
17
Late the previous year, Nero had ordered the fleet, which had apparently been exercising in the Eastern Mediterranean and had lingered too long away from its home port, to return to its Misenum base, as it should for the winter, after the sailing season had closed in October and the weather had deteriorated. Hit by a gale from the southwest as it attempted to round the promontory at Misenum, a number of triremes and several other smaller warships had lost the battle with wind and wave. They ended up wrecked on the shore near the town of Cumae, modern Cuma, northwest of Neapolis on the Bay of Naples. Some officers of the fleet were said to blame the loss of friends in that disaster on the emperor.
“There will be numerous opportunities,” the captain went on, “as Nero delights in frequently going sailing off Puteoli and Misenum.” But, Proculus asked, what would be his reward?
“Gird yourself, Proculus,” Epicharis responded, “to do your part and bring your bravest marines over to our side, and look for an adequate reward after.”
18
Encouraged by Proculus’ reaction, the widow returned to Rome to tell her fellow conspirators of the conversation and of the possibility of murdering Nero at sea. Only days later, Epicharis was arrested by Praetorians; Proculus, certain of a greater reward from Nero than from Epicharis, had informed on her. Taken to the Praetorian barracks, Epicharis was confronted by Proculus, who, in front of the Praetorian tribune of the watch, repeated all that the freedwoman had told him. Fortunately for Epicharis, her accuser could produce no witnesses to their conversation. Nor had Epicharis given Proculus the names of any other conspirators, so there was no one else to arrest and question. After Epicharis denied every word, the matter was reported to Nero.
Suspecting that while there was no proof beyond Proculus’ accusation, there might be some truth in it, the emperor ordered the widow detained until further notice.
XV
THE UNRAVELING
T
he betrayal, questioning, and incarceration of Epicharis sent waves of panic through conspiratorial ranks. Thankful for Epicharis’ plucky silence, her fellow conspirators decided to hurry forward the assassination, planning to carry it out at Piso’s villa at Baiae. For that to transpire, Piso had to not only offer his villa to the emperor for a spring vacation, knowing that Nero was charmed by the place, but also encourage Nero both to immediately take advantage of the offer and to go to Baiae with only a minimal entourage, supposedly for the sake of peace and quiet. This latest plan fell in a heap when the plotters put it to Piso.
“The odium of such an act,” Piso protested, “would stain with the blood of an emperor, no matter how bad he might be, the sanctity of my hospitable villa and the deities who preside over it.”
1
Piso proposed that the murder take place at Rome, so that the conspirators were seen to be acting on behalf of the state. To his mind, the murder should take place “in that hateful mansion piled up with the plunder of the citizens (the new palace now under construction). Or, in public.” Piso was nervous about the whole affair, as well he should have been. Not only would discovery of the plot mean certain death for him, but Piso was concerned that many leading men of the state would “pity Nero as the victim of a crime” and, once Nero had been assassinated, would cast about for an occupant of the throne other than Piso.
2
Piso’s greatest fear was that these senators would offer the throne to Lucius Silanus, the descendant of a noble family with strong imperial connections. Some conspirators suggested that current consul Marcus Julius Vestinus Atticus be approached to become a party to the plot, because he and Nero had recently fallen out after Vestinus had married Statilia Messalina, Nero’s latest mistress. Piso did not like this idea, fearing that the consul would either call for the return of the Roman republic once Nero was out of the way or, in his capacity as consul, appoint a new emperor of his own choosing. Piso told his colleagues that Vestinus was “reckless and dangerous.”
3
Several conspirators were in fact engaged in long-standing feuds with the consul. So, at Piso’s urging, Vestinus was left out of the conspiratorial ring.
At the same time, Piso was anxious to bring to his side men who would be respected, and daunted, by potential rivals such as Silanus and Vestinus. One man whom Piso badly wanted to involve was his old friend Lucius Seneca, a man whom Piso knew to be in fear of Nero and whom Nero had come to distrust. So, Piso sent word to Seneca, asking for a meeting as soon as possible to discuss a matter of great mutual importance. But Seneca responded with a refusal to meet.
So, Piso sent his client Antonius Natalis, one of the seven Equestrians who had joined the plot, to locate Seneca at one of his country retreats. The former chief secretary that Natalis found was looking emaciated now as a result of the strict diet that he had been following since discovering the scheme to poison him. Natalis complained bitterly to Seneca over his refusal to confer with Piso.
“Why are you excluding Piso from your presence,” Natalis demanded, “when it would be better to keep up your friendship through regular intercourse?”
4
Seneca disagreed. Through Natalis, he sent a fresh reply to Piso, excusing himself from any face-to-face contact with his friend, pleading failing health and the need to rest, the same excuse he had used to avoid meeting with the emperor. From one source or another, Seneca had become aware of the assassination plot. When Natalis returned to persist on Piso’s behalf yet again, Seneca again rejected the idea of being seen in company with Piso.
“Mutual conversations and frequent interviews are to the advantage of neither of us,” Seneca told Natalis. As Seneca sent the disappointed middle man on his way again, he told him to wish Piso well on his behalf, adding, cryptically, “My own life depends on Piso’s safety.”
5
After receiving this latest message from Seneca, which led him to take comfort in the belief that his friend supported him, Piso turned to setting a place and time for Nero’s destruction. Ever since the new year began, the emperor had seldom left either his residence or his gardens, so involved had he become in the minutiae of planning and approvals for the rebuilding of the city. One of the conspirators, Tullius Senecio, an Equestrian, was “especially intimate with Nero” and still pretended friendship with him, enabling him to keep the other plotters informed of Nero’s plans and intentions.
6
Some conspirators had expected that the emperor would venture forth come the spring to sing in competition at Neapolis, as he had the previous year, but the word from inside man Senecio was that Nero had made no mention of any such plan. Only one event, the plotters knew, was sure to bring Nero out in public—chariot races. The next race day on the calendar was set for April, during the Cerealia, a festival dedicated to the goddess Ceres. Running from April 12 to April 19, the seven-day festival was scheduled to include one culminating day of chariot racing at the Circus Flaminius. And, Senecio confirmed, Nero would be attending those races.