Tigellinus was grinning. His elbow caught me a painful blow in the ribs.
'Some nice stuff here,' he whispered. 'Better than the broken-winded hacks we get down south.'
The gladiators filed out, leaving the first two pairs – heavily-armed Fish-men against Skirmishers – alone on the sand. As the gates closed the four men gave another salute and then crouched facing each other.
'This should be good,' Burrus grunted. 'Two sets of brothers. According to the trainer their families hate each other's guts.'
The taller of the Skirmishers lunged, his light spear darting towards an opponent's chest. The Fish-man leaped back, pulling his oblong shield round to protect his ribs, then chopped viciously sideways with his short sword; but the Skirmisher was already away, moving like a dancer to the edge of the arena. The crowd yelled.
Meanwhile the second of the Fish-men had drawn blood. As his brother had moved back he had rushed forward past his opponent's guard and thrust at the man's stomach. The edge of his sword slid across the outside of the retreating Skirmisher's thigh, laying it open to the bone. The man stumbled and almost fell.
'Got the bastard!' Tigellinus muttered.
'Wait!' That was Burrus.
The wounded Skirmisher brought his shield round hard, catching his opponent's sword-arm a sickening blow on the wrist just where the protective armour ended. The Fish-man's sword thudded on to the sand and a spear drove into his throat beneath the rim of the visored helmet. Blood jetted. The Fish-man crumpled to his knees in a clatter of ironware.
'Good stuff!' Tigellinus's hand pounded the rail. 'Didn't I tell you, Petronius? Straight in and no messing!'
I agreed; the fight was shaping up very nicely indeed.
Half the crowd were on their feet, screaming. The victorious Skirmisher drew out his spear and raised it high above his head; just as the first Fish-man turned and buried his sword to the hilt full in his unprotected back.
'Oh, well done!' Burrus said. 'Jupiter, what a fight, eh? Two clean deaths in five minutes!'
Tigellinus's eyes were alight. 'The stupid bastard never knew what hit him!'
I looked past him to the imperial couple. Poppaea was sitting stiff as a statue, her hand clenched in her lap. Lucius had turned away. He was looking greener than ever.
It was one against one now. The remaining Fish-man's helmeted head swung slowly round towards his remaining opponent, who stood waiting several yards off. They stared at each other while the crowd yelled above them. Then the Fish-man dropped his own sword, stooped and picked up his brother's. He moved forward at a lumbering run.
The Skirmisher danced away, keeping a ten yards' distance. There were some boos, but most of the crowd shouted encouragement, knowing it was in the lighter-armed man's interest to tire his opponent out. Clearly the Fish-man realised what was happening, because he stopped and waited.
'That fellow's no fool,' Burrus grunted. 'Nor's the other one. This is going to be a long hard slog after all.'
I settled back to watch as the two fighters circled each other. The Skirmisher darted forward, but his spear point scraped against the iron facing of the Fish-man's shield and the heavy short sword hacked at the shaft. The Skirmisher spun away, moving towards the other man's blind side.
'Time for drinkies.' Tigellinus produced a leather flask of wine, unstoppered it and drank. He passed it to me without wiping the top. 'You want some?'
I shook my head. Tigellinus shrugged and took a second, longer swig. Below us, the two fighters were still circling each other. The crowd was getting restless. Someone to my left, in the strong tones of an Ostian bargeman, yelled: 'Get on with it!' Whether he was shouting at the Fish-man or the Skirmisher, I didn't know. Perhaps he didn't know himself.
Suddenly the Skirmisher made his move. He had slowly been retreating backwards, enticing his opponent towards him and gradually increasing his speed. Now he darted left and lunged at the gap between the Fish-man's mailed sword-arm and the edge of his shield. The Fish-man's sword flashed up and down, catching the spear shaft a foot above the head and severing it cleanly. Then, as his opponent tried to regain his balance, he swung his shield round and with all his force smashed its massive iron boss into the man's side. The Skirmisher screamed and fell, dropping both spear and shield and clutching his shattered ribcage.
I expected – everyone expected – the Fish-man to wait for the life or death verdict from the emperor, but he didn't. Throwing aside his own shield, he dragged the screaming man by the hair across to where his brother lay. There he pulled his head back as far as it would go and slit his throat above the corpse. The crowd yelled its approval.
Lucius was on his feet, white-faced and swaying like a drunkard.
'Bastard! Fucking barbarian bastard!' he screamed.
Poppaea and Burrus gripped him by the arms and pulled him down; although I doubt if anyone noticed that. Not the Fish-man, who had his helmet off and was waving his bloody sword aloft in triumph. Not the crowd: they were shouting themselves hoarse and throwing fruit, coins, nuts –anything that came to hand – into the arena. Tigellinus was laughing quietly to himself and sipping from his wine flask.
Between them, Poppaea and Burrus got the emperor settled as the Fish-man made his triumphal tour of the arena and raised his sword a last time in salute to the imperial box. Slaves with hooks dragged off the dead fighters while others scattered fresh sand over the pools of blood. The second set of gladiators marched through the gates.
Instead of returning their salute, Lucius turned to Burrus. He was pale-faced and shaking. His finger stabbed towards the spot where the three corpses had lain, and the baying crowd beyond.
'That's your Rome!' he hissed. 'That's the peak of your fucking so-called civilised Roman society! Well, you can stay and watch the other murders if you like. I'm going home!'
We stared at him in silence. Burrus's expression was unreadable. As slaves sprang to open the door of the imperial box, Lucius paused. He was still trembling, his face now purple with fury. 'Oh, and once this shambles is over I want to see you at the palace! All of you! Seneca as well!'
26.
Burrus sent an urgent message to Seneca to meet us on the Palatine. If he was surprised to see Tigellinus with us when he arrived he didn't show it, but I noticed he was even more formal and reserved than usual. The warning was well taken. While we kicked our heels in the palace waiting room we kept our mouths firmly shut.
Lucius received us in his private sanctum. He was on his feet, pacing the room, and he still looked angry.
'Well? Did you enjoy your little blood-bath, darlings?' he demanded. 'Do you feel suitably purged, all of you?'
'Speaking personally, yes,' Burrus said equably. 'And the mob was happy, which is the main thing. They cheered you at the end, Nero, even if you did choose to deprive them of your presence.'
I winced. It was dangerous to oppose the emperor in his present mood, but Burrus was right and Lucius knew it. No ruler can afford to ignore the mob; and Lucius wanted, more than most, to feel loved.
'My dear fellow, I sympathise with your feelings, believe me.' Seneca was more conciliatory. 'I've no time for legalised butchery myself, as you well know. But Burrus has a point. Unlike us the mob are crude souls. We can't expect them to be capable of true catharsis, they simply haven't the intelligence.'
Lucius threw himself on to a bench and picked up a small bronze statuette from the floor. He was scowling. 'Oh, sit down! Sit down, all of you!' He waved irritably towards the chairs. 'You're quite right. It's just it's such a terrible waste! Perhaps I was wrong to be upset. It's not the people's fault, not really, poor dears. As Seneca says, they don't know any better. And they absolutely adore me.'
'Who wouldn't, when they knew you?' Tigellinus's flattery was so outrageous it took my breath away.
'Exactly.' Lucius was nodding, and absently stroking the bronze; it was Corinthian, a boy athlete, and beautiful. 'The personal touch, that's what's missing. I've been thinking about it a lot
lately. All the people need – all Rome needs – is to be shown how a truly civilised man behaves, to be educated by example, and all this silliness will vanish. You agree?'
Beside me, I felt Seneca hesitate.
'In principle, yes,' he said cautiously. 'Mind you, one cannot change human nature overnight. Philosophers have been trying for centuries. It's along-drawn-out process, and uncertain at the best of times.'
'Oh, I know that, darling.' Lucius set the statuette aside. 'I'm not a fool. But I am the emperor, and if anyone can do it I can. Yes?'
'Of course.' I swear Tigellinus winked at me; but I wasn't about to fall for that nonsense. I kept my face straight, all studious attention. 'You're quite right. If anyone can civilise us it's you.'
Seneca cleared his throat. 'What exactly, Nero, did you have in mind?'
The emperor was becoming excited. 'Well, you see, for a start there're all these silly barriers. Us and them. And then this stupid anti-Greek prejudice. We've got to get rid of all that. Open people's eyes to the wider world, for their own good.' He turned to me. 'Titus, dear, you know what I'm getting at, don't you? You're on my side?'
'Oh, yes.' I wondered where this was taking us.
'My dear boy,' Seneca said calmly. 'It's not a question of sides. Perhaps if you could tell us a little more about your plans we might understand better.'
'But it's so simple!' Lucius was on his feet now, and beaming at us. 'I've been training for this all my life! Think of it as a divine mission!'
Burrus stiffened. He was the oldest of us, and had the clearest memories of the mad godlet Caligula.
'Divine mission?' he said.
Lucius smiled at him.
'To civilise Rome. To bring her a little basic culture.'
There was a silence.
'For example?' Burrus's face was wooden.
'Athletics. Ballet. Theatre. Musical performances. All the usual stuff.' I thought of the plans he'd shown me two years before, for a 'Greek' amphitheatre in Mars Field. They had come to nothing in the end, but the idea, it seemed, had persisted. 'Darlings, it would be brilliant! A total renaissance!'
'And your part in this would be...?' Burrus said.
'Oh, an active one, of course! I mean, I may be emperor, but I've got to have some fun, haven't I? And we'd offer prizes, naturally, to encourage people to get involved.'
'"People"?' I wondered how Nero's Commander of Praetorians could get the word out between his clenched teeth.
'Anyone who likes! Anyone at all! Naturally I'd expect the top families to set an example. They're not all stuffy old faggots like you, my dear. They'd be thrilled to be asked, I'm sure.'
Burrus had gone beetroot red. He half rose from his chair.
'That's...' he began.
'...an interesting idea, my dear fellow,' Seneca finished smoothly, his hand gripping Burrus's wrist. 'But perhaps one that needs some discussion before we put it into practice.'
Lucius ignored him. He was striding the room. 'I thought we could start with the new Vatican Racetrack. I might give a little demonstration of chariot-driving.'
I thought Burrus would have a stroke there and then.
'You mean,' he whispered, 'you would drive a chariot yourself? In public?'
'Of course, darling. Why not?' Lucius turned his smile on Tigellinus.'I'm good enough, aren't I, Tiggy?'
Tigellinus was smiling too. He was the only one of us completely at his ease, and I wondered if Lucius had discussed this with him already.
'You're very good, sir,' he said. 'Better than Hermippus any day.' Hermippus was the leading charioteer of the Greens, Lucius's favourite team.
'There you are.' Lucius's smile broadened. 'And Tiggy knows what he's talking about. He'll be supplying the horses.'
Ah. So he had known. And it also explained why Tigellinus had been invited to this little confab.
'Nero, I'm sorry,' Burrus said, 'but you cannot possibly do this.'
Lucius went very still, as did we all.
'But I'm the emperor, my dear,' he said quietly. 'And I can do anything I fucking well like.'
'Burrus, please!' Seneca's face was impassive, but I could see sweat on his forehead. 'Our young friend is perfectly correct. We can only advise. If he chooses not to take our advice, then there is an end of it.' He turned to Lucius. 'Perhaps at first...a few invited guests...to give people a little time to get used to the idea? You said yourself it would be a mistake to force things along too quickly.'
'Did I?' Lucius frowned. 'Perhaps I did. It doesn't matter much. And if it'll keep old poker-arse here happy then we'll do it that way. But in principle you're not opposed, are you?'
'How could I possibly be? As you say, my dear fellow, you are the emperor.'
'And there's an end of it.' Lucius was beaming at us again. 'Oh, good. I'm glad we're all friends again. Don't worry, you'll see I'm right.'
'Might I ask' – Seneca was delicate – 'what else you have in mind?'
Lucius sat down on the bench. 'I told you. Lots of things. A theatrical festival, for a start. Ballet, tragic recitals. I've got some wonderful songs lined up.' He giggled. 'Poppy's been on at me to shave my beard, she says it tickles. That would be the excuse. I mean, a first shave's awfully important to you old Romans, isn't it, Burrus darling? Terribly traditional! I thought we might call them the Youth Games.'
Burrus's lips set in a line. Lucius, noticing, scowled and turned away from him.
'Oh, please yourself, you old fart!' he snapped. 'That's enough for tonight anyway, you're all giving me a headache. Now go away and sulk.'
We left.
Seneca had a dinner engagement elsewhere on the Palatine. I shared my litter with Burrus, who was still fuming.
'The fool's lost what little sense he had!' he burst out as soon as the curtains closed. 'If he goes through with this idiotic scheme he'll have the whole establishment up in arms!'
'Things could be worse,' I said. 'At least he hasn't gone paranoid like Tiberius, or wants us all to burn incense to him like Caligula.'
But Burrus was not to be pacified.
'Perhaps if he had the decency to go properly mad I'd have more sympathy for him,' he growled. 'At least then we'd know where we stood.'
I liked Burrus, and felt I owed him a little bit of honesty.
'Personally I'm quite looking forward to it,' I said. 'Rome could do with a good sharp breath of fresh air.'
He stared at me as if I'd gone mad myself. 'You're not serious!'
'Of course I'm serious. Compared with Greece Rome's a bore, and only two steps this side of barbarism. I've always thought so.'
He sighed as if giving me up as a bad job. 'Petronius, we've had this conversation before. The Greeks are fine in their way, but they're water to Rome's oil. An emperor who tries to mix the two will have his work cut out, and he'll fail in the end.'
'We'll see. But I think Nero's got a valid point, and I wish him luck.'
'Then you're as big a fool as he is.'
We subsided into silence, until I thought he'd fallen asleep. I pulled the litter's curtain aside and stared out into the darkness. Then he suddenly said: 'By the way, what did you think of Tigellinus?'
I turned back.
'Not a lot, my dear.'
He chuckled. 'Me neither. The man's a complete chancer and rotten as a maggoty apple.'
'Who is he exactly?'
'An ex-slave of Agrippina's. Caligula exiled him for having it off with his mistress and her sister and he went over to Greece. He made a small fortune in the luxury fish business and then oiled his way back to Italy. These days he breeds horses for the racetrack near Tarentum.'
'A colourful character. Nero seems quite fond of him.'
He grunted and nodded. 'Yes, doesn't he? And that's worrying. Like I said, the man's a chancer. We'll have to keep our eyes on darling Tiggy.'
But it was two years before Tigellinus began to make his presence properly felt; and by that time Burrus was dead.
27.
&
nbsp; Lucius's demonstration of chariot-driving raised even more metaphorical dust than literal. Dressed in gorgeous robes of Coan silk, made up to the eyebrows and with his hair bound back with a golden charioteer's cord, the ruling Emperor of Rome galloped his four horses round the Vatican Racetrack beneath a blue canopy studded with gold stars. Did it well, too: Tigellinus had exaggerated when he compared him to Hermippus, but not by much.
Rome was delighted. She was horrified. She was scandalised. The drive cocked a glorious snook at convention, and it split the city. The mob was wildly enthusiastic, of course, but then the Roman mob will cheer anything. The upper classes were another matter. Some were laughing in their sleeves. Some, mostly the younger element and those who appreciated what Lucius was trying to do, applauded, while the diehard traditionalists watched with frozen faces and tight lips, and privately consigned him to ten kinds of hell.
I'd arranged to watch the up-and-coming Youth Games with Silia, but in the event we were a group of four.
'I've asked Acte up to stay, Titus,' she said when we were finalising arrangements; Acte had moved out of the palace several months before and was living in the villa Lucius had bought her at Puteoli. 'She's had such a lonely time of it, poor dear. Oh, and Gnaeus as well. I wouldn't usually inflict him on you but he's terribly upset just now over some little Corinthian flute-player and the poor lamb needs comforting. You don't mind too much, do you?'
'Of course not, darling! Not at all!' What could one say? All the same it had all the makings of a disastrous outing. Arruntius was five steps to the right of Cato and he wouldn't normally be seen dead at a concert.
The games began with a religious ceremony that was almost pure theatre. After a bull-burning that left the whole city smelling like a cookshop Lucius climbed the steps of Jupiter's temple holding aloft a beautiful pearl-studded gold casket. This box contained his beard-shavings, which in accordance with tradition he deposited with the god. ('The old dear'll like a bit of camp, Titus,' he'd confided to me earlier. 'He's quite a show-off himself, and he'd've made a simply marvellous actor.')
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