Jacques (2002), however, argues in his recent edition that Nicander should be viewed equally as a poet and a doctor, and notes that poison was a very real danger in antiquity, in which he is followed by Clauss (2006). To this point I would add that magic that was based on herbs or other materia, and often conflated with poisoning, was also an omnipresent concern in the ancient world. Nicander’s poetic topics, which may seem, from a modern perspective, of little interest outside of the history of toxicology, zoology, botany, and pharmacy, have far different connotations in a world where one must protect oneself from hostile pharmaka and veneficium.

Vergil also follows Nicander’s lead in imitating Theocritus; his Eclogue 8 remixes Theocritus’ Idyll 2 with a more Roman interpretation of a love spell, including references to incanting crops from others’ fields — a crime of magic in the Twelve Tablets — picking venena (and by implication, performing veneficium), and drawing the moon from the sky, a popular trope associated with witches in ancient Rome. Vergil’s depiction of both pastoral magic and practical farming topics mirrors the similar dichotomy, and convergence, of the two in Nicander’s Theriaka and Alexipharmaka.

One might be inclined to translation veneficium as “poisoning,” in the context of the two named works about venomous animals, but in the context of a defense against magic, the word’s more magical connotations are most relevant. In any case, poisoning and magic were closely linked concepts in ancient Rome; I will discuss the intersection of the two in the term veneficium in the next chapter.

Considering how widely Pliny draws on Nicander as a source in his Natural History, it appears that the veneficium of a Greek didactic poet is far more acceptable in his eyes than the veneficium of a Persian magus. To Apuleius and Pliny, highly educated Romans, Nicander and Theophrastus do not teach magic (the arts of Magi), but the skeptical and learned perspective of these men may in fact be less accurate than the insight of the common people who perceived the strands of magical didactic shot through Nicander’s work. It is no surprise that Apuleius would make such a comparison, even if he disingenuously presents it as ridiculous.

Although it is true that charms and poisons are not noxious in themselves, this charge could have upset the audience and aroused unsympathetic feelings for Apuleius as the belief that carmina and venena were used in love-magic was widespread and much feared in the ancient world. Abt points this out, but since his explanation is primarily based on the PGM, I will put his hypothesis on a firmer basis by providing a more exhaustive scrutiny of literary and papyrological evidence, to gauge the conviction that carmina and venena were customary tools of love-magic. While carmen and its synonyms designate every kind of goetic utterances, even from an etymological viewpoint the Latin venenum originated in the very context of love-magic and was later applied to poisonous substances as a whole; and it is even considered as a form of charm by Quintilian. As we have already seen at Apol.30.4-31.9, Apuleius and earlier sources retrospectively interpret the Homeric Perimede, Circe and Helen as connected to magic, because of their use of φάρμακα. The most important source for the diffusion of love-magic as a literary theme is Theocritus’ Second Idyll. This poem inspired Vergil’s Eighth Eclogue – which is well-known to Apuleius – where we find references to both carmina and other paraphernalia, amongst which are herbs and venena, in love-magic. A similar, although more dramatic, scene is Dido’s ritual at Aeneid 4.509-16, cited verbatim by Apuleius; this commonplace theme recurs in Horace, Tibullus and Propertius, who all refer to the compelling strength of philtres and spells in love-magic.

There is though another side to the remedium concept: the remedy can be harsher and more destructive than the original illness. It may turn out to be a poison. While the word remedium appears in the Annals twenty nine times, there are as many as thirty eight occurrences of venenum. This observation brings us back to the primary deity of the Julio-Claudian dynasty: Venus. Venenum is widely thought to be derived from the same stem as venus, desire, with the meaning of something, perhaps a substance, imbued with venus. There are some doubts on how much this etymology was recognized by the Romans themselves, yet there exist some examples which may suggest the link between venus and venenum was intelligible in the antiquity. Definitely the word venenum was used at first to describe a love-inducing potion; the meaning of “poison” was developed eventually as the potions used might have caused madness and death. While venenum could have both positive (as a healing potion) and negative (poison, magical spell) connotations, another derivative from the same root, veneficus, was usually decidedly negative (poisoner or magician). Calhoon (2010:271-294) has put forward a hypothesis that Caligula and Nero were presented (not only in Tacitus’ works) as venefici and venena. I believe this appellation can apply to majority of the members of the Julio-Claudian dynasty, at least in the Tacitean narrative. For the sake of clarity I will analyze the evidence in separate subchapters. At the moment this observation allows me to reflect once again on the embassies passage (3.61-3), in which I have already noted the presence of healing gods. Yet there are also present gods related to magic: Diana in her many guises, especially Diana Persica, connected with the Zoroastrian Magi, and Diana Trivia, the Greek Hecate. Venus herself is not innocent of magical connections. In Homer there is the description of her girdle, which allowed the wearer to seduce any man she wanted (Il. 14.214-7). The girdle was definitely perceived as “magical” by Vergil (Ecl. 8.77-8), Tibullus (1.8.5-6) and Plutarch (Mor. 23c). Aphrodite’s name was also used in magical invocations. One of her closest companions was Peitho, Roman Suada, i.e. the goddess of persuasion (especially in the realm of seduction). The link between magic (veneficia) and seductive speech (blandimenta) is constantly underlined in Latin literature, from Plautus to Ovid (Amores 1.8.103-4; 3.7, Met. 9.156) and Vergil (Aen. 1.670-688). Apart from magic, the specific Venuses mentioned by Tacitus are also connected with androgyny and homosexuality (see above). Venus is also associated with adultery, “slavery” and theatre. I believe that Tacitus used the enumeration of gods and goddesses in the embassies passage not only to show the religious fundaments of the principate, but also to parade the worst vices and excesses of the JulioClaudians and their rule: from Caligula’s androgyny (Ann. 6.5) to Nero’s fondness of theatre. He seems to be using the images of the religious propaganda (victory, healing, peace and prosperity/fertility) in order to subvert it (slavery, poisoning and magical arts, adultery). The subject definitely deserves a closer study, yet in here I will concentrate principally on the connections with magic.

The prevalence of opinion is underlined again in 2.64, where Germanicus’ friends, having no doubts whatsoever that he was poisoned and attacked by black magic, prepare the prosecution and send to Rome Martina, a favourite of Plancina and a woman famous in the province for her veneficia (2.74, a word which could denote easily an expertise in both magic and poisons). Tacitus mentions her again at 3.7, in almost the same words (infamem veneficiis; famosam veneficiis): she dies suddenly upon reaching Italy (in Brundisium) and her body does not show any signs of suicide attempt, but a poison (venenum) is found hidden in her hair. The circumstances of her death markedly resemble those of Germanicus’: suddenness, no physical signs of poisoning and a substance, which might have been a culprit, hidden close to her body (though in Germanicus’ case there is no doubt the hidden objects were magical; in here, venenum could also denote poison).