In the dead of the nightshade

Employed by Roman archers to poison arrows, by emperors' wives to achieve widowhood and by Cleopatra to enhance her beauty, folklore has not exaggerated the fatal tendencies of belladonna

- Ian Morton

ONE of the very earliest and truly earnest parental instructions I received as a small boy in rural Gloucestershire concerned the most dangerous plant to be found in the countryside, its leggy upward sprawl embracing garden and hedgerow shrubs, its black fruits perilously poisonous and never to be touched, let alone tasted. Its very name struck a chill: deadly nightshade. I still take half a step back when I encounter it. This was not village folklore—every part of the plant is toxic. Two berries can kill a small child, a dozen or so an adult. A single leaf can be fatal. It is one of the Solanaceae family and, although the Latin etymology is unclear, reflecting a preference for shade and the habit of night flowering, above all, it echoes centuries of dark history.

These plants were well known in the ancient world. In war, Roman archers used the juice of the deadly nightshade to poison their arrows. In peace, it was a favoured means of assassination. Agrippina the Younger, mother of Nero, used it to get rid of her husband, Emperor Claudius; Livia, wife of Emperor Augustus, contrived widowhood by the same means.

The potential of its Mandragora relatives —native to the Mediterranean region and called (via the French main de gloire) mandrakes in this country, because the twin root looked rather similar to the human figure —was equally recognised, although they were usually employed for less sinister purposes. In the 4th century BC, the Greek botanist and philosopher Theophrastus recommended root extract for wounds, gout, sleeplessness and as a love potion. The plant was also associated with Dionysus, god of wine, and worshippers achieved drunken ecstasy with mandrake-infused wine.