Otho of course was there, and the guests whom he had invited to the villa in the Apennines. Among the others were Nerva, now a young man of twenty-three, and Vespasian, with his two sons, Titus and Domitian, who, with a few other boys, were asked to meet Britannicus. Piso Licinianus, a youth of seventeen, of high lineage and blameless manners, was of a very different stamp from Nero’s favourite companions, but Nero chose to pay him the compliment of commanding his presence. Among the elder guests of the miscellaneous party were invited Galba, a man in the prime of life, who since his return from Africa had been living in retirement, and Vitellius, who, though only forty, had been already infamous under four emperors, and who rose to the highest position in spite of the fact that he was notorious for gluttony alone.
A curious incident occurred at the beginning of the banquet. Among the crowded slaves who waited on the guests was a Christian who, like Agabus and the daughters of Philip, possessed in a high degree that peculiar gift of prophecy which is known as second sight. His name was Herodion; and Apelles, one of his fellow-slaves in Cæsar’s household, in pointing out the guests, mentioned the rumour that Nerva’s horoscope had been cast by an astrologer, who had predicted that he should succeed to the Empire; and that Augustus had laid his hands on the head of Galba when he was a boy, and had said to him, ‘Thou too, my child, shalt have a taste of empire.’
‘I do not believe in horoscopes,’ said Herodion.
‘Not believe in the Chaldæans?’ replied the other. ‘Ah, I remember, thou art one of those Christians, who worship—well, never mind. But canst thou deny that the prognostications of our augurs, and the answers of our oracles, often come true?’
‘They do,’ said Herodion. ‘We believe that the demons have such power sometimes permitted them. There was, for instance, a maid with the spirit of Python at Philippi, whose fame has even reached to Rome. But—’ and here he paused long, and gazed with earnest and troubled countenance on the assembled guests.
‘What is it?’ asked Apelles.
‘Apelles,’ answered Herodion, ‘thou art honest, and lovest me. Dare I tell thee that as I gaze on these guests I seem to see them as through a mist of blood?’
‘Thou art safe with me,’ answered Apelles. ‘Should I be likely to betray the kind sharer of my cell, who nursed me last year through that long and terrible fever?’
But Herodion sank into silence, though his glance grew more and more troubled as he looked around him. Whatever it may have been granted him to see or to divine, he spoke no more. But among those guests there were no less than eight future emperors—Galba, Otho, Vitellius, Vespasian, Titus, Domitian, Nerva, and Trajan, then a little child, who was led in by a slave; and six of these, as well as Nero and Britannicus, and Piso Licinianus, were destined to violent deaths. Apelles recalled the scene years afterwards, when he too had become a convert to Christianity.
The joyous licence of the Saturnalia put an end to all stiffness of ceremonial. The banquet was gay and mirthful, and as so many youths and boys were present the amusements were purposely kept free from such scenes as disgraced the suppers at Subiaco and the palace of Otho. It was agreed that the younger guests should cast lots which should be the king of the feast. Nero threw the Venus-throw of four sixes, and was accordingly elected with acclamation to the mirthful office. The rex ruled with undisputed sway, and all were obliged to obey his bidding. Good taste and natural kindness usually prevented him from any flagrant abuse of his office.